Voices
by RuthR
Summary: The Cullens are the picture of the perfect family, but behind the wealth and charm, they're hiding something – something that will be uncovered by Bella Swan when she meets a broken, troubled boy and learns that even perfection can be imperfect. AU Human
1. PROLOGUE

_A/N: Hello again! I thought I'd try my hand at some more __Twilight fanfic. The last one was a bit of a flop -- I couldn't really go anywhere with the plot, and the mood just wasn't right. So, hopefully this attempt is a little more successful. As always, Edward, Bella, and Co. belong to Stephenie Meyer. Please give it a shot and tell me what you think; I always appreciate feedback.  
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_Summary: The Cullens are the picture of the perfect American family: Dr. Cullen is a renowned surgeon, his wife a loving mother and talented architect, and the two Cullen children are popular, well-behaved, and studious. Behind the wealth and charm, however, the Cullens are hiding something – and that something will be uncovered by Isabella Swan when she meets a broken, troubled boy and learns that even perfection can be imperfect._

_AU Human ExB; rated for drug use and violence._

_NOTE: I've edited the first two chapters, thanks to the wonderful S.R. Devaste. Give them another read -- they're better, I promise._

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PROLOGUE

He was dying.

I was numb, cold. People were talking to me, but I couldn't hear them through the buzzing in my ears. I was too tired to think, and I didn't want to sleep. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw him.

I could feel the hard plastic of the chair under my thighs, and a little voice inside urged me to get up and move around. I had been sitting here for a long time. It didn't matter, though. I didn't think I could get up even if I wanted to. I wouldn't leave him.

God, I was tired. I could feel my eyelids drooping, and I was sure I looked awful. Alice would have my head for going out of the house without an ounce of foundation on. I could feel the sticky streaks of mascara that had dried on my cheeks. The soft satin of my blue cocktail dress was ripped and tattered under my hands; I hoped she wouldn't be mad at me for ruining the dress too.

My fingers brushed across something slippery and warm, and I looked down. Blood painted my palm, and my stomach heaved as I realized that it was _his_. Suddenly my head was between my knees, and someone's hand was cupped against my neck. I couldn't stop gagging, even though there was nothing left for me to cough up. My nostrils were filled with a horrible metallic scent, and all I could see was the blood. There had been so much of it -- my mind's eye replayed the scene I had been trying so hard to block: Edward, lying motionless on the bed; Edward, drenched in blood; Edward, in an ambulance with white bandages on his arms.

I retched so hard that my throat hurt. The hand was now on my back, and I realized dimly that it was my father whispering to me and stroking my hair. What was Charlie doing here at the hospital?

I could hear heavy footsteps thudding toward us, but I didn't look up. "Bella!? Chief Swan, wh-what happened? Alice said --_ Edward_. . . ."

It was Emmett's voice. He sounded scared. That wasn't right -- Emmett was never scared. If he was afraid, that meant that everything had really happened, that Edward had really. . . .

I didn't want to think about it anymore.

I could hear Charlie murmuring something, and then Emmett's shoes pounded a quick pattern on the tile as he left. A moment later he was shouting at the nurse who stood in front of the doors that separated me from Edward.

"I'm sorry, sir -- you can't come in now. Mr. Cullen is still in surgery. Please stay in the waiting area." The nurse was speaking calmly, and I vaguely wondered how often he had had to turn frantic family members away from their injured loved ones.

"I am not _waiting!_" Emmett exploded. "That's my little brother in there! Let me in, dammit!"

Charlie sighed, and his hand left my shoulder as he walked away. I stared down at the tiled floor. It was white. Why were hospital floors always white? Stains looked worse on white.

Now Charlie was back, and Emmett with him. They were talking and I didn't bother listening, not even when Emmett said my name. I didn't want to look at him, but my eyes opened anyway.

He was crying.

I turned my back to him and buried my face against the chair padding; the coarse fibers scratched my face and smelled strongly of disinfectant. There was a creak of old springs as Charlie sat next to me. His hand was on my back again, caressing me tentatively, but I shrugged away from his touch. I didn't deserve to be comforted.

Hours passed, maybe days passed, but eventually the nurse guarding the door moved away, and Dr. Cullen emerged from the dark room, his scrubs stained and his blue eyes swollen and rimmed with red. I blinked, and then Alice and Emmett and Esme were there with him, talking in a rush of words that I couldn't understand.

Charlie's hand was on my arm, and I glanced at his face for the first time all night. He looked grim and exhausted.

"Bells, come on. Come with me -- the surgery is over. Come and see Edward."

_Come and see Edward_. That got me up. I followed my father quietly, clinging to his hand like a little girl.

The Cullens had disappeared into the room, but when we walked in Alice came over, reaching for me. Her spiky black hair brushed against my chin as she hugged me tight. "Oh, Bella. Oh, God, the window. I didn't know. God, Bella."

She wasn't making any sense, but I squeezed her back. After a minute she moved away, and I could finally see Edward on the bed. I was glad that the white sheets were covering his arms; I didn't want to look at the bandages and be reminded of what he had done. His face was still, and I watched his chest obsessively for a few minutes, making certain that it was moving up and down in rhythm with his breathing. Satisfied that he was alive, I shrank back against the wall.

No one seemed to notice; they were crowding around the bed. I allowed myself to take a deep, cleansing breath. It smelled like Lysol in here too. My eyes were drawn back to Edward's face. Maybe everything would be okay. I would never get better, but maybe he would . . . .

We all stayed in the room, lingering around his bedside, and I wondered if the Cullens were afraid of the same thing I was: that if I left for even an instant, Edward would disappear.

Charlie went home when visiting hours were over, and the nurse let me stay after Esme insisted that I was a member of the family. I should have been pleased, but I just felt empty. Jasper came to bring some food around midnight, since none of us were sleeping. I couldn't choke anything down. Dr. Cullen tried to talk to me once; I ignored him. This was his fault too.

Around two in the morning, my eyes began to drift shut despite my determination to stay awake for Edward. I hadn't dozed more than a few minutes when a shrill beeping noise pierced my eardrums, and my heart stuttered to a halt. I knew that sound.

The room was in instant chaos. Dr. Cullen sprinted to Edward's bedside -- the machine recording his vital signs was flashing, shrieking and wailing with terrible insistence. The overhead lights flickered on as several nurses rushed into the room, one of them wheeling in a cart with all sorts of tubes and needles on it. I stumbled against the cabinet, unable to breathe, unable to look away as they jerked Edward's body up from the bed and pounded on his chest, forcing a clear tube down his throat.

I could hear Esme and Alice sobbing behind me as Dr. Cullen tried to resuscitate his son, shouting all the while for the nurses, for medicine, for the defibrillator.

The beeping stopped as the little green waves on the screen flatlined. There was silence for an endless minute as the monitor whistled long and high -- and then Esme screamed. . .and screamed and screamed and screamed . . .

I felt cold tile against my cheek, but I couldn't remember how I had gotten on the floor. Closing my eyes, I tried not to listen to the machine. I felt oddly peaceful. Nothing mattered except lying here and sleeping...and Edward. Where was Edward? I needed to tell him how sorry I was, how wrong I was. He would forgive me. He always did.

_I'm sorry, Edward._

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	2. THE SHRINK

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_This is an extensively edited version of Ch. 1. I took down the original so this version would match the version of Voices on Twilighted. Hope that didn't cause too much confusion. Anyway, a re-read would probably be worth it, since I did make some changes. Thanks!_

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CHAPTER ONE

THE SHRINK

Doctor Jasper Whitlock, Psy.D, was recognized as one of the country's most brilliant psychologists, and it was a great honor to be able to work under him as a student -- but my first thought, as I walked through the office doors to meet my temporary professor, was that the man really ought to have been a movie star instead.

Ash-blond hair, neatly swept over his forehead, dangled slightly over moody blue eyes, and the casual suit containing his lean body was as unassuming as his office. His face was handsome but even when he smiled, like he was now, his eyes remained serious.

"Good afternoon," he said, in a soft, soothing voice, standing up politely; he towered over me by at least a foot. "I am Dr. Whitlock -- I'm assuming you're Miss Swan?"

"Yes, sir," I stuttered, nerves burning away all my confidence. "It's an honor to meet you."

He smiled another one of those solemn smiles and gestured for me to take a seat in front of his desk. "May I see your references?"

"Of course, Doctor." I pawed through my attache case, finally emerging with a sheaf of papers. My fingers quivered, and I almost dropped the portfolio on the floor. Dr. Whitlock chuckled, and even though it wasn't meant maliciously, I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

I handed the papers over quickly before I could do anything stupid and sat quietly while Dr. Whitlock looked through my information. He hemmed and hawed, paging through the recommendations thoughtfully before glancing over at me with a look of curiosity. "You're very well qualified, Miss Swan. Top percentage of your class."

I blushed again, but this time it was with pleasure. Being from a fairly uneducated family and a small backwater town, I was proud of my accomplishments. My father, Charlie, still thought psychology was a bunch of "mumbo-jumbo", but I knew he liked to brag about his daughter to the boys down at the police station, even if he really didn't understand what I studied.

Forks, Washington, eternally wet and overcast, wasn't exactly the cultural center of the universe, and the University of Washington was fairly far removed from tiny Forks High School. It would have been easy to sink under the newness and pressure of such a big college -- and I almost had, several times -- but somehow I'd made it through and was now pursuing my doctorate in clinical psychology. An internship with Dr. Whitlock was the next big step in my career, and I had been looking forward to this opportunity for months. The doctor was a bit of a legend in his field, known for his successful use of non-medicinal rehabilitation and his rumored ability to sniff out the problem after a single session. Of course, it didn't hurt that he was a fine piece of meat either -- there had been rumors in the department that some female patients had even gone so far as to fake symptoms in order to spend more time with him. I didn't know whether there was any truth in that gossip, but looking at him now, it didn't surprise me too much.

Dr. Whitlock carefully placed the papers back into their binder. "So, may I ask what lead you to pursue this line of work, Miss Swan?"

I had been asked this question so repeatedly throughout my years with the department that I had the answer down to an art. When I looked back up at the doctor, however, my well-practiced speech fell to pieces, and I scrambled for something to express myself. "Um. . . I guess I just wanted to. . . well, I've always been interested in how the human mind works, and how environment and learned behaviors impact a child's growth and personality, and um. . .I've wanted to do this since I was a kid. Yeah." I stuttered to an awkward stop, and a small silence ensued.

_Bravo, Bella. That sounded **so** articulate and intelligent; I'm sure Dr. Whitlock is very impressed._

To his credit and my eternal gratitude, the doctor simply nodded and moved on. He asked me about school and the classes I was currently enrolled in; he wanted to know if I was involved in many other activities and what job I was holding down. I explained that I was a full-time student at the moment -- my Grandma Marie had left me a very generous trust fund for my education. I had always been frugal, so there was quite a bit of it left, and for now I was focusing on getting my degree. I would pick up a job during the summer to help replace what I used during the course of the school year.

It turned out my current state of unemployment would be an advantage; Dr. Whitlock assured me that my more flexible schedule would prove useful in keeping a consistent observation timetable. He asked a bit more, about my family and friends and interests, and although I suspected that every question had a purpose in ferreting out some bit of insight into me, he did it so smoothly that I wasn't even aware of it at first.

After the round of twenty questions, Dr. Whitlock leaned forward and eyed me approvingly. "Well, I believe you'll do, Miss Swan. Are you prepared to start tomorrow? I have a session that I think you would like to join, considering the subject of your thesis." I had done a report on the lasting emotional effects of sexual and physical abuse in children -- it had been the most eye-opening and appalling thing I had ever researched. "Miss Hale has already agreed to observation by a third party. Are you available at 3 o'clock tomorrow?"

I hadn't expected to begin so soon; it took me a moment to collect myself. "Yes, sir. That would be fine."

"Bring your usual supplies." He wrote out a note for me and then gave me my portfolio. "Will you hand this to Angela on your way out? She'll make a copy of your papers and return them to you tomorrow." He held out his hand, and I shook it cautiously; I felt a patch of hard calluses beneath my fingers, and I wondered how a man who made his living sitting behind a desk had gotten them.

"Sure. Thank you, Doctor."

"Thank you, Miss Swan. Have a good day." He nodded to me and returned to the mound of papers on his desk.

I walked into the adjoining reception area, closing the door behind me, and I slumped briefly against it, exhaling a pent-up breath. The secretary looked up and grinned at me. "Nerve-wracking, huh?"

I laughed. "Yeah."

She stood up to put away a file, and I saw that she had to be at least six months pregnant; she was tall and slender, and the protruding belly looked a little odd on her, but she had a friendly, open face. The placard on her desk read _Angela Cheney_. "Dr. Whitlock's a nice man -- it just takes a while to get used to him. He's very reserved, but patients seem to prefer calm to hyperactive."

I chuckled. "I suppose that would be a little distracting, wouldn't it?" I remembered the portfolio and held it out to her. "He said to give you this."

She took it and filed it away before sitting down again with a sigh, propping her arms on her stomach. "Will you be coming back soon for your observation?"

"Tomorrow," I glanced down at the note, "with Rosalie Hale."

A look of astonishment crossed Angela's face, but a moment later she was smiling again. "Hmm. Well, good luck, Ms. Swan."

"Call me Bella, please."

"Call me Angela," she replied. "See you tomorrow, Bella."

"Bye, Angela."

She waved, and I left the office, feeling my self-assurance slowly return. Surely it was a good sign that Dr. Whitlock had taken me on quickly, right? I hoped so; it would be incredibly disappointing not to stay with this program.

As I climbed into my ancient red truck, my pocket buzzed. I flipped my cell phone open and found a text from my mom, Renee.

_hi b -- how r u? is ur new prof a stud? lol. phil has a game tonite. miss u. -- mom_

I liked my mom's new husband, but sometimes I wished Phil -- who was ten years younger than Renee -- had never introduced her to twenty-first century technology. Her text messages were just all kinds of wrong.

I sent back a quick text, assuring her that Dr. Whitlock did indeed emit high intensity handsome-rays, but I also reminded her emphatically that I was not going to think about him like that. Even if, for some odd reason, he preferred plain, brown-eyed brunettes, there was no way I was getting involved with a colleague. Ever. My career was a million times more important than hooking up with some man I hardly knew. Besides, I really wasn't looking for a relationship right now.

I tucked the phone away and put my truck into reverse, backing out of the parking lot and narrowly avoiding a collision with a sleek black car. The roar of the truck's engine seemed almost obscenely loud, but I loved the beast. I'd had it for years; Charlie had bought it off a friend and given it to me as a homecoming gift when I moved from Phoenix to Forks my junior year of high school.

Thoughts of that gift led to thoughts of the boy who had originally owned my truck. For years I had deliberately avoided dwelling on Jake, but now I'd healed to the point where memories of him were bittersweet and mostly positive. Jacob Black had been my best friend in Forks, and although he had developed a disconcerting crush on me, our friendship had always superceded everything.

I eased off the gas as I approached a stoplight, smiling as I pictured Jake's cheerful face in my mind. We'd been thrown together since we were little kids because Charlie and Jake's dad, Billy, were fishing buddies. He'd always joined me when I played with his sisters even though I was two years older than he was; he always let me win hide-and-seek; he'd pulled my pigtails and made me cry; he'd bought me Valentine's Day chocolates every year; he'd given me my first kiss and asked me to prom.

I laughed out loud, earning myself an odd look from the lady in the car next to me, as I remembered what had happened the day I'd first gotten my truck. Jake and Billy had come over to drop it off, and I'd been too shy to say much more than 'thank-you'. I never was very gracious about receiving gifts. Jake wasn't shy though, and he'd promptly informed me that he'd named the pickup Dolly because it had such an enormous front end. Charlie had not been amused.

It had been six years, but sometimes I still missed him.

Jake was the reason I had gone into psychology in the first place. When he was sixteen, just a week before junior prom, he'd killed himself. It was only later that we learned how messed up his life had become that year, and none of us had realized it until it was too late. My sweet best friend had gotten recruited by a local gang in La Push and his life had become a cycle of drugs, alcohol, and violence; it was impossible for him to get out, and he'd taken the only escape he felt was available to him: his father's shotgun.

During the funeral, I'd looked at his peaceful face, with its lovely russet skin and strong features, and vowed to myself that I would never let the warning signs slip by me again. I would make something positive out of Jake's death -- I would work to save other kids from themselves.

It was a grand resolution, made out of grief and fear, but I'd followed through. And so here I was: twenty-three, just starting grad school at the University of Washington, with nothing to my name except a battered pickup truck, a dog, and a tiny apartment. . . oh, and an internship with Dr. Jasper Whitlock.

Yes, things were looking up.

When I finally reached my apartment, I was greeted at the door by a very unhappy schnauzer. Seth had been a present from Jake for my seventeenth birthday, and I hadn't been able to leave him at Charlie's while I went off to college. My landlady had reluctantly agreed to let me keep him, figuring that my rent money was worth the possibility of a soiled carpet.

Seth whined at me before skittering to his empty food dish and snuffling around it mournfully. I got the point. It was later than I was usually home, and Seth was accustomed to regular mealtimes. Well, he would just have to get used to it; my schedule was going to be out of order for awhile.

He looked up at me with those melting brown eyes and whimpered, looking hopeful. Ugh. It was no use -- resisting puppy-dog eyes was impossible. I went into the kitchen to get us both some grub.

I microwaved some leftover tacos while Seth devoured his dog chow; the buzzer chimed, and I pulled out the plate, poured a glass of milk, and retreated to the couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh of relief. I watched some mindless medical drama while I ate, kicking off my shoes and stretching my aching feet. Seth had finished slobbering over his bowl and wandered over; I smiled as the little gray fuzzball curled up on my lap and was snoring within minutes. He was such a fickle dog.

With nothing else to do, I zoned out in front of the TV. Most people my age were out partying, but I'd never had much of a social life, so vegetating at home was nothing new to me. Even after five years here in Seattle, I hadn't made any real friends; I knew kids in my classes and had lots of acquaintances, but I hadn't been really close to anyone but Jake. Unhealthy, I'm sure, but it was just the way I was.

Yawning, I leaned back and read over Dr. Whitlock's note again, if only to reassure myself that I was actually going to a session with him tomorrow. _Rosalie Hale_. . . I wondered why Angela had seemed so startled. I hoped there wasn't anything seriously wrong with Ms. Hale. Maybe there was, and Dr. Whitlock was planning on testing my mettle.

I was suddenly nervous again.

Psychologists have to walk a fine line between patient and friend. It's natural to want to comfort people who are hurting, who are suffering from disorders and mental diseases, but a good doctor has to keep detached and professional. With very difficult cases, it's hard to stay focused on the medical aspect and not interfere in the patient's life. That was something in this field that I was not looking forward to, but I had hoped that I would learn how to stay composed with some practice. Sleepless nights were something that a psychologist simply had to accept as a normal part of the job.

I wasn't ready for that yet. I wasn't ready to become so invested in a patient's personal life that my own life was impacted because of it. Dr. Whitlock was going to throw me out; I wasn't ready. . .

I pushed down the panic and insecurity. This was not the time to chicken out; I'd worked too hard to give up just yet. I was overreacting -- honestly, Ms. Hale was probably a routine patient. Angela obviously knew her; she'd been in before. It couldn't be too serious then, could it?

Seth snorted in his sleep and nuzzled my hand. I ran my fingers through his napped fur and sighed. It was almost ten, and I needed sleep if I was going to put my best foot forward tomorrow. Gently, I pushed Seth off my lap and onto the couch and went to take a shower and put on my pajamas.

I was in bed by eleven, but I couldn't fall asleep until well after one o'clock.

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_A/N: Alright, the stage has been set. Any guesses on what Rose will be coming in for? Leave some feedback and Dr. Whitlock will schedule a private session with you!_

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	3. BLONDIE

CHAPTER TWO

BLONDIE

I had arrived at Dr. Whitlock's office an hour early, but I sat in the cab of my truck in the parking lot, trying to convince myself that I wasn't making a horrible mistake. I'd dressed up, even braving a pair of heels for the day in an effort to make the best impression possible. A cup of coffee had provided me with some artificial energy, and all I needed now was a few more minutes of pep talk.

"You can do this, Isabella Marie Swan," I told myself, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "You can walk in there and take notes and watch Dr. Whitlock work his magic, and then you are going to give him the best damn feedback he's ever gotten. You are going to analyze this observation and put Freud himself to shame. Got it? Good."

It was only after I had gotten out of the truck and was halfway up the stairs that it occurred to me that I was preparing to watch a psychiatric evaluation – and I was talking to the voices in _my_ head.

The thought made me laugh and the anxious knots in my belly slowly began to loosen, and then, because my entire existence seemed to be dogged by cosmic irony, I tripped. My papers scattered across the linoleum, and I scrambled to collect them, swearing under my breath. Just my luck. My clumsiness, which had been a real bane in high school, had finally subsided somewhat, but it had the nasty habit of resurfacing when I least wanted it to.

As I reached out to grab a pen that was hiding beneath the water fountain, a neatly-manicured hand picked it up.

Looking up from the pair of bright pink heels that were planted in front of my face, I saw Heidi Klum's twin sister looming over me, hands on hips. I stood up, tottering on my pumps, and took a few cautious steps backwards. Extremely beautiful people tended to intimidate me, and this lady looked like she belonged on the cover of _Cosmopolitan_.

"I think this is yours," she said loftily.

I sheepishly took the pen she was holding out. "Thanks." Feeling the odd need to explain myself, I gestured to the scattered contents of my bag. "This happens a lot."

One arched eyebrow rocketed further up her forehead. "No shit. You walk in those shoes like you've never worn them before."

_Ouch. _"I have, but that doesn't mean I like them."

There was a sardonic twist to her smile. "Sure." Without another word, she turned to walk into Dr. Whitlock's office, and my surprise made me blurt out, "You're Rosalie Hale?"

Her stare was carefully assessing, with a sudden edge of disdain that had me squirming in my heels. "I am. Are you Jasper's new pet project?"

I might have objected to the term if she hadn't been Dr. Whitlock's patient, about six inches taller than me, and wearing stilettos that looked downright lethal. "Yes."

"You shouldn't be standing out here then. The appointment starts in three minutes. Don't make me wait." On that parting note, she marched into the office and shut the door behind her. I hurried to stuff everything back into my bag, cursing my bad luck all the while, before venturing inside. The reception area was empty, so Ms. Hale had to be in with the doctor already.

Angela smiled sympathetically at me from behind her desk. "She treats everyone like that, Bella. Don't take it personally."

I spoke just as quietly, still shaken. "Should I go in?"

"Go ahead. They're about to begin."

Dr. Whitlock's manner was welcoming, in contrast to Ms. Hale's cold 'hello.' "Ah, Miss Swan, come in. Miss Swan, this is Rosalie Hale. Rosalie, this is Isabella Swan."

"You can call me Bella," I corrected meekly, pulling out my yellow legal pad so I had something with which to shelter myself from her penetrating glare. God, this woman was _terrifying_.

Ms. Hale seemed mildly amused by the way my voice cracked. "Charmed."

"Well, now that we're all here..." Dr. Whitlock consulted his notes, written in a messy scrawl better suited to a physician than a shrink. "Why don't we pick up where we left off last week, Rosalie?"

"Why not?" she drawled. "Maybe we'll solve all the world's problems today – you never know."

The doctor ignored her sarcasm. "The world can wait. Right now we want to take a look at your week."

"Yeah, I bet you want to. Hey, Princess, you think you can keep up?"

It took me a few seconds to realize she was talking to me. "Yes?" I hadn't meant for it to come out sounding like a question.

Ms. Hale sighed. "You've got a real winner here, Doc."

I looked down and bit my lip, hoping against hope that I wasn't blushing. This was _not _a good start.

Thankfully, Dr. Whitlock started up the conversation, and I was free from the spotlight. Ms. Hale and the doctor discussed the week's work, bits of news, and other commonplace things. I listened raptly, watching how they interacted and scarcely daring to shift in my chair lest I interrupt. They talked with the familiarity of old friends, yet I could recognize the little hints and leading questions that the doctor slid so effortlessly into their discourse to bring the topic around to his liking. The uncomfortable tension in the room melted away under Dr. Whitlock's spell – a gentle calm had replaced it, and I even felt brave enough to stop cowering behind my notebook.

Ms. Hale was full of interesting contradictions: she spoke boldly and bluntly, but she was also reserved, not volunteering information until she was prompted by Dr. Whitlock. She was clearly very aware of her physical appeal, repeatedly smoothing down her skirt and arranging her wavy blonde hair over her shoulder, yet there was nothing flirtatious in the way she interacted with the doctor.

I was astonished to learn that Ms. Hale was an auto mechanic with her own shop in downtown Seattle. It wasn't the sort of profession I had expected from someone like her. Try as I might, I could hardly picture her – with her Prada bag and expensive summer dress – in grease-monkey overalls decorated with singed hems and oil stains. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps she had subconsciously chosen to be a mechanic to prove someone wrong about her talents and abilities.

Ms. Hale's career wasn't the most startling aspect of the day, however. That distinction went to her attitude toward the doctor. Despite my earlier impression, she proved to be at ease with him, if a little harsh, and if she skirted the edge of rudeness at times, it didn't appear to faze him. It was apparent that she was a regular visitor to this office, though her brazenness still astounded me. I could see already that Dr. Whitlock had a special talent for drawing others out, but she was a naturally surefooted woman. There was no hint of hesitation or shame in her voice as Dr. Whitlock led her into the real topic of discussion.

"Have you had any more episodes?" he asked her casually, putting aside the papers he had been sorting to look at her directly.

"Once. Last Tuesday."

Dr. Whitlock's face was carefully expressionless. "Can you tell me why you think it happened? Do you know what triggered it?"

"Yes." She squared her shoulders, sitting up in the chair with an air of sudden determination. "I was at the garage. We'd gotten in a new Porsche Turbo 911 to showcase, and a few customers wandered over to take a look at it. It' s a new model, very beautiful, a perfect blend of speed, power, and design..."

"And what happened?"

"Felix was fixing up a van brought in by some boys who were stranded on the interstate. The battery died, so they were stuck in the shop until it was done, and I was putting some last touches on the Porsche, and...well, the kids came over and crowded around..." She took a deep breath. "Emmett had gone to pick up some takeout. I was alone, and I guess I just panicked, being surrounded by all those people..." She laughed, but it was a humorless sound. "They were just _boys_, Jasper – they wouldn't have hurt me. They wanted a look at the car..."

"Rosalie." Dr. Whitlock rose from the desk and came around to sit on the edge, closer to her. His voice was almost hypnotically soothing. "Has this happened before while you were working in the shop?"

That question seemed to hit a nerve. "No," she choked, her fists clenching so hard that I was afraid her French tips were going to break off. "It's never happened at the garage. I thought I was _safe _there." Her voice was terribly bitter – it was hard not to pity her for whatever had caused that anger to lodge itself so deeply.

Her blue eyes were watery, but when she noticed me sitting so close, she flicked at them angrily and turned away. _Proud_, I thought. The way she carried herself, the way she talked of her accomplishments, the way she addressed others – it all smacked of pride. She was an especially proud woman. Why? Why did she feel the need to broadcast her own confidence? I scribbled the thought down on my notepad, which was rapidly filling with little comments and questions.

"Did you talk to Emmett?" Dr. Whitlock asked. "Did you tell him you were uncomfortable being left in the showroom alone?"

The mulish set of her mouth spoke for her.

"Why won't you tell Emmett about your episodes, Rosalie?"

"Why?" she snarled, startling me so badly I dropped my notepad. "Why do you think? He's the only good thing that's ever happened to me, and he'd drop me the instant he found out how messed up I really am!" As quickly as her temper flared, it guttered out and died. "I don't want to lose him."

Dr. Whitlock was silent for a moment, allowing all of us to recover some composure. "Rosalie, has Emmett ever given you reason to believe he would leave you if you told him?"

She struggled for a moment before slumping into her chair. "No."

"Has Emmett ever expressed a lack of interest in your past or your past experiences?"

"No."

"Has he ever held anything that you could not have helped against you? Maybe blamed you for something you weren't responsible for?"

"No."

"I've said this before, Rosalie, and I'll say it again. In a relationship as intimate as yours, honesty is essential. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but I'm telling you as your doctor and your friend that in addition to bringing you immense relief, telling Emmett the truth will only make your bond stronger. It may be difficult to accept, and he may not react like you expect him to, but in time I believe he will understand and support you. Bring him to a session and we can all talk. You don't have to do it today, but it would be best to do it soon."

Ms. Hale sniffled. "Fine."

Dr. Whitlock returned to his seat. "Thank you, Rosalie. You're a very courageous young lady."

Flushed and red-nosed, Ms. Hale was not nearly as intimidating a figure, and I felt ashamed for judging her so quickly. I didn't like her, exactly, but I could understand her a little better, and I felt hope that in time we could work together. Difficult patients were a part of the job description, after all.

After giving her time to unwind, Dr. Whitlock moved on, drawing her back into the conversation. Within ten minutes, she was chatting about Emmett and the shop again, with no trace of her former anxiety; she was capable of quick recoveries, then.

"Em's sister is throwing a party this weekend," she said, but she didn't sound too enthusiastic. Dr. Whitlock seemed to pick up on her tone as well.

"Do you not want to go?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, no, I don't mind. With the way Alice talks, you'd think she was a complete bimbo, but she's not all that bad when you get to know her. I was just a little...concerned...about the crowd. The kid's popular; she always has a lot of friends over for these parties."

"When is this party, Rosalie?"

"Next week."

Dr. Whitlock jotted something down on a calender next to his desk. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Shoot."

"You may go through the entire night without a breakdown, but if you should happen to feel the stirrings of another episode at the party, I want you to leave and tell Emmett."

She blanched.

"If you do, I'll never mention it again. Shall we make it a deal?" he asked, extending one hand toward her.

"That's not fair."

"Too bad. It's what I'm offering."

She fidgeted, sighed, and then stuck out her own hand. "Deal."

They shook on it, and after a few more minutes of casual talk, the session was over. I gathered up my notes and stood, waiting for Ms. Hale to exit first. To my surprise, she shook my hand as well, though she left without saying a word.

Another patient was coming in soon, so my time with Dr. Whitlock was brief. After the emotional events of the afternoon, I was too drained to be nervous – I let him read over my notes and comments on his session. I was hesitant to give him direct feedback on his own methods, since I didn't want to come off as too critical, but I didn't want to be a brown-noser either.

"Not bad," he said, flipping through the pages. "I want to apologize for Rosalie's manner; it would have been kinder to warn you beforehand. You've chosen a challenging place to intern, and I wanted you to understand this. We aren't playing games here – a person's mental and emotional health is at stake every time you see a patient. I chose you especially to sit in on her sessions, and I hope that in time you'll see why."

I hoped so too, since I didn't have a clue at the moment. "Thank you."

He nodded and shot a glance at his watch. "Any questions, or anything you'd like me to clear up before you go?"

I was bursting with curiosity about what had happened to Ms. Hale, but something stopped me from asking. I had signed a confidentiality form before joining this program, so I was allowed to know the particulars of the cases I sat in on. Still, I couldn't help but feel that going around Ms. Hale's back for the sordid tales of her life was wrong. I hoped that we could nurture a comfortable rapport with each other eventually, and I didn't want to jeopardize that. "No, I don't think so."

"A job well done," Dr. Whitlock told me, handing my notes back. "Next time I want to see more insight from _you_, Miss Swan, how you might react to certain topics that come up." He gave me a half-smile. "And you might want to work on keeping your emotions to yourself during a session. I want your feelings on this page, not on your face."

I blushed. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't apologize. Just do something to fix it. The next session with Rosalie is on the 14th. Have a good night, Miss Swan."

I packed up my things and hurried from the office, feeling tired but successful; Angela gave me a 'thumbs-up' as I headed out the door. It was drizzling when I stepped out into the parking lot, but even rain couldn't ruin my mood. I was taking steps in the right direction.

Grinning like a crazy woman, I jumped into the truck, turned the radio on full blast, and drove home to Seth. _Well done, Bella Swan_.

* * *

A/N: _Ah, Rosalie always manages to make an impression. ;) Thank you to all of you who read, reviewed, and favorited. Give a big cheer for the amazing SR Devaste, who's helped me so much with this story. Go read her "Pygmalion and Galatea" for your daily dose of Darkward!_

**_I noticed that a few authors were doing this, and I thought it was a cute idea to get some teasers out there: after every chapter, when you review, I'll PM you a fabulous teaser from the next chapter. Sound good? _**

_Thanks!  
_

* * *


	4. ROSIE'S GARAGE

CHAPTER THREE

ROSIE'S GARAGE

Time had a tendency to slip by in inconsistent patterns. Some weeks ended reluctantly, trailing along with the most frustrating sort of indolence, while others flitted past in a frantic tangle of hours. For me, time was always unpredictable, and the massive changes that my routine had undergone resulted in an internal clock that had gone absolutely berserk.

Over the course of two months, Ms. Hale came on six occasions to talk with Dr. Whitlock and ignore my quiet presence in the back of the office. Slowly a picture of her life began to take form for me, fleeting snapshots of a privileged and unhappy childhood that had added up to the ultimate tragedy.

An only child in an extremely wealthy family, Ms. Hale had been subject to pressure and social scrutiny beyond the norm for most children. Money, comeliness, and prominence had all come together for her, but despite her many talents, only her beauty was valued and praised by her parents. Appearance became the focus of young Rosalie's life, as Mrs. Hale was one of the infamous 'pageant mothers' living vicariously through her daughter. The girl was shipped from contest to contest, rewarded for her successes and harshly criticized for any failures.

Ms. Hale could admit now that she would never have chosen to continue the pageants if not for her mother's influence. She thrived on attention and adulation, but what was once an exciting opportunity to stand in the spotlight had become an endless series of strict regulations and disappointment.

Impossible standards had resulted in a detachment from her parents, and once she was of age, she rebelled, and a mechanic was far removed from the elegant trophy wife that her upbringing had prepared her to be. She was proud of the garage, and the fact that her decision to uproot herself from her parents' high-class world had ended in estrangement didn't seem to have affected her love for her job. The shop was her own, belonging entirely to her, and she craved the feeling of being useful and capable, in control of her own life. At work she was free, allowed to get grease under her fingernails and dirt on her clothes without fear of reproof.

The issues in Ms. Hale's life were easily recognizable, a textbook case of emotional neglect and stifling parental expectations. I took several more sessions before I understood that there was another underlying issue in her psyche, one that was vastly more serious.

Ms. Hale's mother had a younger brother, Royce, the heir to their father's banking empire. He was a bachelor, well-to-do but careless with the family fortune, whiling it away on luxuries and elaborate gifts – gifts that often went to his young niece.

When Ms. Hale began the pageant circuit, Royce often accompanied the family to help his sister coach little Rosalie.

"He always told me what a pretty girl I was," Ms. Hale recalled. "I already knew I was pretty. Everyone told me so. I guess. . . I guess I never thought there was anything strange about it then."

As the years passed, it became more and more apparent that there was something very twisted about Royce's attention. He always found excuses to touch her, to kiss her, and when she began to shy away, he only increased his efforts.

Rosalie had gone to her mother, instinctively knowing that something was wrong, but Mrs. Hale had brushed her off. She wasn't bold enough to speak more directly or approach other family members, not even when the situation escalated and she was violated in the worst possible way.

The rape had been the catastrophic turning point in her life. For me the details were shady, but from things that Ms. Hale said, it sounded as though the deed hadn't been done only by her uncle – in a drunken fit, he had let his equally intoxicated friends take turns with her. Repulsive, sickening excuses for human beings, all of them, but not one had ever gone to jail for the crime. Royce had conveniently moved to Europe to live out his days by the Italian seaside, and the other men had scattered, their names and faces forgotten.

She never told her parents.

Fortunately, Ms. Hale hadn't been left with any permanent physical damage, although the mental and emotional affects were still very much a part of her daily life. Deep insecurities and a fear of unsolicited sexual or physical contact had been the primary consequences, and it had taken her many years of therapy to come as far as she had. It was a testament to the strength of her willpower that she was in a healthy relationship with her long-term boyfriend, Emmett.

The more I learned about Ms. Hale, the more I admired her for what she had done. It took so much courage to come forward, yet she had done it with a grace that I knew I could never have managed. That didn't mean, of course, that she had healed.

Dr. Whitlock's strategy was an interesting one. As a patient Rosalie was unresponsive to the usual methods he employed, and her case required uncommon directness. Confrontation was the key, as Ms. Hale had spent much of her adolescence bottling up feelings of anger and helplessness without any outlet or release. The doctor was constantly pushing and then drawing back, prodding and pulling away in the hopes that those restrained emotions would finally erupt.

"I want her to accept her anger," he remarked, as we were sorting through her file one afternoon. "Anger is a natural emotion, but it's detrimental if it becomes the sole focus of a person's life. Rosalie has expressed her anger but never acknowledged the root of it."

"Hurt?"

"Exactly. When she can recognize that she's been hurt and that the pain has impacted her life, then we can start to move forward. She's clinging on to resentment and avoidance rather than looking for the cause. Bitterness won't do her any good."

"And if it backfires? What if the acknowledgement is too much?"

Dr. Whitlock raked his fingers through his hair, a gesture of simple exhaustion. "Sometimes we have to take chances. I have faith in Rosalie, and I believe she can recover what she lost of herself. She's here because she wants to go forward with her life, and all we can do is try to find a way for that to happen."

I noticed that he never answered my question.

Emmett's place in Ms. Hale's life was another kettle of fish altogether. They had been serious for several years, but she had never felt ready to tell him about Royce or the alienation from her family. She hadn't had a problem at the party, so once again the topic of the therapy sessions had been avoided.

I could understand her reluctance. It took a lot to tell someone you loved that you had been hurt. There had been so much pain in Jacob's life, and I had later wondered why he didn't come to me for help. Perhaps if he had told someone, he would still be alive.

Ms. Hale's dilemma wasn't a matter of life or death, of course, but it was still a serious problem. From the information I had gleaned through the conversations, Emmett sounded like a fair man who was devoted to her. It would take more than a tangled past to chase him away, but Ms. Hale seemed unable to convince herself that she was worth it to him.

Dr. Whitlock didn't push her, reminding her that there were consequences to every action and that honesty was important before letting the subject go. It had to be difficult to find the delicate balance between urging and commanding. He had been tugging at the issue for several months, ever since Ms. Hale had first come to him.

I worried about Rosalie, trying to come up with a solution. I wanted to help in some small way, since I wasn't doing much but writing a few damn notes and listening in to her conversations. There had to be something I could do for her, something to make a difference like Dr. Whitlock did, but no heaven-sent spark of inspiration came my way. So much for my resolution not to get too involved in patients' lives; I fretted over her to the point where I lost a few nights of sleep.

In the end, I needn't have worried. She figured it out on her own.

On our twelfth session together, Ms. Hale strolled into the office with her face aglow. One look told me that Dr. Whitlock's gentle prodding had finally succeeded, and I was nearly as proud of her as he was.

"I told him," she informed us smugly. "I told him everything, and he still loves me."

"That's _wonderful_, Rosalie," Dr. Whitlock said. "When did you talk?"

"Last night. He said I was acting weird, and he was afraid that he'd done something to upset me. Can you imagine that? He thought it was _his_ fault, stupid man. We went to his apartment to talk, and he was so sweet to me, so understanding. He said it didn't matter what Royce had done. He loved me, and as long as I loved him too, he said he couldn't ask for anything more. He was so angry that I'd been hurt. If that bastard ever comes within ten feet of Emmett, he'll be turned into a sidewalk smear." The satisfaction in her voice was palpable.

"You did a difficult thing," he told her, "and I'm delighted that Emmett rose to the occasion. I think we've reached a real peak here, Rosalie."

She was so pleased with his praise and her own accomplishment that she even spared me a genuine smile on her way out the door.

Despite her progress, Dr. Whitlock was still feeling cautious. "She's made remarkable strides," he commented once she was gone, "but she's had some relapses before. I don't want her to quit so early that we miss out on something important. She's only gotten her life together recently, and I would hate to see her fall back into old habits."

"Of course not." I looked down at my notebook, which was mostly blank today. "Dr. Whitlock, may I ask you something?"

He peered up at me from under the gold fringe of his bangs. "Certainly."

"Why did Ms. Hale allow you to include a student in her sessions? I know you said that I would figure it out, but I'm not getting anything, and she doesn't seem to care for the extra company anymore than she did the first day."

"That's a difficult question to answer, Miss Swan. Rosalie may appear confident when she speaks of her past, but there is still a great deal of underlying anxiety and shame."

"It wasn't her fault."

"I know that and you know that – and apparently, Emmett now knows it too – but she doesn't. It's one of things I'm afraid will continue to impact her unless we work it through to the end."

I glanced down at my pad and focused in on a small scribble from last week's session: _Ellen and Richard Hale – parents, socialite, businessman_. "Her parents blamed her."

He shook his head. "Her father never knew."

"But Mrs. Hale did." I was probably prying, but I was having a hard time believing, even after all the cases of child abuse that I'd studied, that a mother could be so cruel to her daughter.

"I've tried not to judge, which is an asset here." Dr. Whitlock looked at me directly, his pale eyes searching and serious. "Can you handle cases impartially, Miss Swan? You can't let your emotions rule you when you're in a session. Vent in the car, cry in your office after everyone's left, throw a fit at home...just don't break down in front of the patient.

"Rosalie was uncomfortable with you being here in the first place. She agreed because I believed it would help her to tell her story to someone else. She has some hostility issues with strangers that need to be addressed, and I truly do think your presence has helped her."

He paused, sizing me up, and then went on calmly, "I will be perfectly honest with you: Ms. Hale was uneasy with a second presence in the room, but you specifically worsened the tension."

My expression must have shown my hurt because he smiled slightly. "You still need to work on that poker face, Miss Swan. I wasn't insulting you or your abilities. Ms. Hale is the sort of her person who doesn't respond well to sympathy. She interpreted your concern for her as pity, and it caused her to dig her heels in. People, particularly sensitive people, can pick up those emotional auras, and Rosalie has that talent, although she misread your signals in this instance. She saw you – an intelligent, attractive, 'whole' young woman – and a comparison was inevitable. To put it plainly, she was embarrassed."

I made an involuntary noise of disbelief. What about plain, boring Bella Swan could possibly make someone like Ms. Hale feel inadequate?

Dr. Whitlock frowned, and for a moment I felt like _I_ was sitting on the couch being interviewed. "How old are you, Miss Swan?"

The question startled me, as I was sure my birthday was included on the registration sheet he had been given. "Twenty-four. How old are you?" It slid out before I could bite it back.

He laughed, and the gesture brightened his sober face. "Sorry. I suppose I could have been a little more subtle. You are very young for someone in this profession, and as much as I think Rosalie will benefit from your observation, I also believe wholeheartedly that you will learn from her too. If I've discovered anything in the years I've studied the human mind, it's that everyone has their little idiosyncrasies, and that you rarely finish a case without learning something new about yourself. I hope you'll find that true as well."

Properly humbled, I gathered up my things and started out the door.

"Miss Swan, I almost forgot..."

"Yes, Doctor?"

He smiled conspiratorially. "I'm thirty-six."

* * *

My truck had been fading for years, so I was irritated but not surprised when it began to tremble and groan as I sat in midday traffic, stalling when I stepped on the gas and earning me plenty of amused stares from the drivers around me.

Bemoaning my bad luck, I managed to navigate the truck off the main road and down a few blocks, shifting gears frantically and tapping on the brake. As I turned the corner, I spotted a big, hand-painted sign hanging over an old warehouse, proudly emblazoned with the words _Rosie's Garage_. With a burst of pure relief, I pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine.

It was a fairly large building, with a main segment of weathered brick flanked by two additions that looked new. There were two glossy convertibles displayed in the window, and I could see several cars being worked on inside the garage itself.

The office was a stark white room with cement floors, a scattering of mismatched chairs and tables, and a small television in the corner. Two men and a woman with a baby sat in the waiting area, but no one was behind the reception desk.

"Ring the bell, honey," the older man said, not moving his eyes from the football game on TV. "Em's here, but he's off tinkering with something."

"Thanks." I pressed the bell on the counter. Within a few moments, the door connected to the garage swung open, and a man about as tall and broad as the doorway itself ducked into the office. "Hi. What can I do for you?"

"I'm afraid my truck decided to die on me."

He chuckled and stepped around the desk. "Lead the way, and I'll have a look at it."

It took only a minute sifting under the hood for him to find the problem. "Spark plugs are shot," he informed me, pointing one finger. "See how corroded they are?"

I leaned forward to look, but all I could see was a mass of jumbled wires. "Uh, yeah. Can it be fixed?"

"It might be pricey, but it's workable. When do you need it?"

"I don't suppose you could have it done tonight?"

"Probably, but it might cost extra. Here, I'll get Sam started on it right away. I would ask Rosie to do it – she's the quickest of us all – but she's not working today. Sam'll do a great job, though."

Rosie. I looked back at the sign. _Rosie's Garage_. Of course. What kind of a moron was I? The place was called _Rosie's_, for God's sake.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." What had that man called him? Em? "Thank you, Mr. — ?"

"Emmett," he said agreeably, sticking out one massive hand for me to shake. "Emmett Cullen."

It was altogether too much of a coincidence, but this Emmett fit the description too: big, brawny, with dark, curly hair and blue eyes. "Bella Swan. This might sound a little crazy, but do you know a Rosalie Hale?"

He laughed, a booming sound that made me jump. "Hell yeah. She's my girlfriend _and _she owns this place." His broad, open face was alive with curiosity. "How do you know my Rosie?"

I hesitated. It was impossible to know how much Rosalie had chosen to edit from her account to Emmett. She hadn't said whether she mentioned the therapy or not. "I'm an associate of Dr. Whitlock's."

"Oh – you're _that_ girl! Rosie mentioned you too. How do you like working with Doctor Deadpan?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Have you met Dr. Whitlock?"

"Met him just yesterday. Rosie took me to the office to see him. Nice enough guy, but he could stand to loosen up a little." His look was so mischievous that he reminded me of a kid despite the power muscles, an impression that was furthered by the cute dimples bracketing his mouth.

Another man, wearing blue overalls that matched Emmett's, leaned out of the garage door. "Hey, Em, the '93 Oldsmobile is ready."

"Great! C'mere, I've got another job for you."

The guy groaned but jogged over to us.

"Bella here needs her truck finished by..." He consulted his watch. "...five."

"That soon?"

"Just do it, Sam. It's not a tough fix, only spark plugs."

"Got it." Sam and a few of the other guys rolled my truck into the garage while Emmett ushered me back to the office to wait. He chatted with me from behind the desk while he did some paperwork, evidently having no qualms about sharing his life's story with a stranger. I swear, he was the friendliest man I'd ever met, and it was peculiar to imagine him meshing with Ms. Hale very well. Still, opposites attract, right?

"I don't put a lot of stock in shrinks," he said casually as he wrote out some receipts, "though I'm glad they could help. I'm not as smart as Rosie is, but I knew something was wrong. The Doc's done a lot for us both – so have you."

"Me? I really haven't done anything. I've just been watching. Actually, I think I might be making it harder for her."

"Nah. Rosie likes you."

I raised my eyebrows, and he chortled.

"She said you were mousy and scared of your own shadow, but you weren't condescending. She hates that. Personally, I think you must have _cajones_ of steel to put up with Rosie's moods for all these weeks."

"Thanks?"

"Take it for what it's worth. She's a great girl, but she doesn't hand out gold stars for good behavior."

I spent the afternoon finishing up a report and watching the football game while Sam worked on my truck. Emmett swung by to talk whenever he had a spare minute, and he was nice enough to bring me a cheeseburger when he went on a lunch-run for the guys. At ten minutes to five, Sam came into the office to announce that the truck was fixed. I went up to the register to pay, but Emmett wouldn't take my credit card.

"No charge, Bella." He tossed me my keys. "Consider it repayment."

* * *

_A/N: Ah, Emmett -- who doesn't love the big lunk? As always, HUGE thanks to my critique partner, SR Devaste. If you haven't read her "Pygmalion and Galatea" yet, go do it!  
_

**_I noticed that a few authors were doing this, and I thought it was a cute idea to get some teasers out there: after every chapter, when you review, I'll PM you a fabulous teaser from the next chapter. Sound good? _**

* * *


	5. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU

CHAPTER FOUR

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU

Seth, being a precocious sort of dog, had gotten into the habit of imitating an alarm clock in the mornings. He would leap onto the mattress and nose me in the face until I crawled out of bed or, on occasion, threw a pillow at him.

This was one of those days. After Seth scooted out of the room with his tail tucked, throwing what I imagined to be a resentful look over his furry shoulder, I rolled over to look at my real alarm. Five 'o clock. Great. I loved getting up at five on a Saturday.

Grumbling, I dragged myself out of the cocoon of sheets and wandered into the bathroom down the hall. It was impossible for me to go back to sleep after I was woken up, a trait that I seemed to have inherited from my father, who was a notorious insomniac.

Bleary-eyed and pale, the reflection in my mirror wasn't a pleasant image. Not for the first time, I wondered whether I ought to have taken Renee up on her offer to give me a make-over on my last visit to Phoenix. She was twenty years my senior and had an awful sense of fashion, but she always looked more put together than I did on my best days.

Then again, since I was staying home all day, there wasn't really a point in prettying myself up. I put on some sweats and a t-shirt and lounged in front of the computer, playing a few mind-numbing rounds of solitaire while I munched on a bowl of cereal.

Around noon, I considered calling Charlie but eventually decided against it. I'd talked to him last week, and we rarely had much to say to each other anyway. Not that we didn't have a good relationship; we were actually pretty close, but neither of us were big on chit-chat. I would call him when I had something to tell him.

Renee had texted again last night, apparently at two in the morning, but I didn't open her message. I loved my mom, I really did, but I had no desire to know why she was up that late. Knowing her, she would have given me the full scoop; I had learned the hard way from reading her late-night texts before. They were usually the result of an evening spent clubbing with Phil like a teenager. Sometimes I wondered whether Renee and I had been the victims of some sort of Freaky-Friday switch, and my personality was actually trapped inside my mother's body.

I did some paperwork, watched a few soap operas, and finished the laundry. By afternoon, I was stretched out on the couch, napping with Seth curled up on my stomach, his pillow of choice.

The ringing phone woke me up. I wiggled out from under Seth and stumbled sleepily into the kitchen, stubbing my toe in the process.

Rubbing my throbbing foot, I hopped over to the phone. "Hello?"

"Bella Swan?" came a familiar voice over the line.

"Yes?"

"It's Rosalie Hale."

"Oh." I sat down. "Um . . . can I help you?"

She snorted, a sound which somehow she managed to make elegant. "Not really. Em said he met you last week at the garage."

"Did he? He was very nice. He didn't have to give me that free fix-up though..."

"Yeah, he's nice," she interrupted. "Look, it's his birthday tomorrow, but we're celebrating tonight with some friends. I called to invite you to join us."

That was the last thing I'd expected. I had only met the man once, and Ms. Hale and I weren't exactly BFFs.

She grew impatient with my silence. "Hey, are you coming or not?"

"I'd love to. Are you sure?"

"I asked you, didn't I?" She sighed and gave me the time and address. I scrambled for a pen and paper to write it down.

"Thanks for the invitation. I'll see you at nine."

"Bye." She hung up.

I replaced the phone in its cradle and blew out a tired breath, looking over at Seth. "Well, that was weird."

It looked like I was going to have to get dressed up after all.

* * *

Even though I was unfamiliar with the various party-spots in the city, finding Volterra was easy enough. It was a little club set in the middle of a row of restaurants and shops, and a line stretched from the door to the end of the sidewalk.

Timidly I pushed through the crowd, clutching my purse and the card I'd bought Emmett a few minutes ago at a nearby supermarket. Rosalie had said to go directly inside; their party had reservations, and my name had been left at the door.

At the entrance, my ID was checked and I was led inside to a private parlor. Volterra was a small and cozy bar, with a sort of faux-Italian-countryside motif. The walls were painted with abstract mosaics of grapevines and pastoral scenery, and all the bartenders were wearing suits and ties. I wasn't all that fond of clubs, which were usually smoky, dim, and noisy, but this one was actually bearable.

Peering over the waiter's shoulder, I saw people milling around a buffet table piled high with presents and a three-tiered cake. The invitation, which had seemed so out-of-the-blue to me this morning, suddenly made sense. Apparently when he threw parties, Emmett was in the habit of inviting everyone he'd ever met. Hell, there were so many people in this room that he'd probably invited random strangers off the street.

The man of the hour was sitting at the head of the table, one arm slung over his girlfriend's shoulders.

"Hey, hey, Bella!" He waved me over, grinning. "C'mon and join us! You want a beer?"

"Maybe just one." Feeling a little awkward, I sat down across from him, next to a big guy I recognized as Sam from the garage. "Thanks for the invite, Emmett. You too, Ms. Hale."

"We're not in Jasper's office. Call me Rosalie."

I smiled tentatively as she took a bubbling mug off the tray and slid it toward me. "Thank you, Rosalie."

The conversation was cheerful and rowdy, and I recognized several of the guys from the garage as well as three dozen others I'd never met before and would likely never see again. As the evening progressed, most of the guests drifted off to the dance floor, but I was content to stay where I was. Under the influence of Emmett's hospitality and the alcohol, I slowly began to relax and eventually ended up talking mostly with Sam, who asked about my truck and wanted to know what I was doing for a living. He told me about his work at the garage, and how he had met Emmett in college (they'd been teammates.) Looking at both men's husky frames, it didn't take a stretch of imagination to picture them on the football field.

"So, how'd you meet Rosalie, Bella?" he asked around a mouthful of pasta. "Em said you were a friend of hers."

"We met at . . . work. We haven't known each other for very long, just a few months."

"Well, I'm impressed." He chuckled and leaned over to whisper in my ear. "I've been on the job with Rosie for four years and she still scares the hell out of me."

"She has a lot of defenses built up, yes, but she's a good person under it all." I was surprised at how protective of her I felt.

"Hey, ease up. She's a tough boss, but we all love working for her. I wouldn't want to go anywhere else."

"Of course. I didn't mean to imply anything to the contrary," I said stiffly.

"You're a funny little thing." He shook his head. "You talk like you came straight out of an Austen novel."

I wasn't sure whether he considered that a good thing or not. "Do I?"

"I may be a grease monkey, but I can read too. Yeah, you remind me of one of those old-fashioned girls – very formal, and all that."

I felt my face flushing red. "Sorry."

"Hell, that wasn't an insult, Bella. You're just different. It's kinda nice. Variety is the spice of life, right?"

"I suppose it is."

It was easy to interact with Sam, and something about his exotic features reminded me strongly of Jacob. I talked much more than I usually did, but he seemed interested in what I said, and if he wasn't. He was genuinely nice, and for the first time in a long while, I was actually enjoying myself at a party.

All too soon, though, he pushed back his empty glass and got up from the table. "Sorry, Bella, but I have to run. I've got a long drive tomorrow; Paul and I are going home for the weekend. It was really nice to talk to you, though. Could I have your phone number?"

Flattered, I agreed. We exchanged numbers and he left with his brother, waving at me on his way out. Feeling confident and content with the evening, I was about to leave myself, but Rosalie called me over to the buffet table.

"Hey, Bella, come help me with this."

She instructed me to cut the cake while she mixed another pitcher of punch. I was the only other woman in the room at this point, and I suppose she thought the men would ruin it. I said as much, and to my surprise, she cracked a smile.

"Emmett's ham-handed," she said, "and I don't want to imagine the fit his sister would have if she came in and saw what a mess we made of her prized creation."

"She made this?" I looked at the cake admiringly. "It's lovely."

"The Peppy Princess has talent," Rosalie said grudgingly, "but she's positively neurotic about her work. She's a wedding planner."

"Is she much like Emmett?"

"No. She smiles too much. It's irritating as hell."

I refrained from pointing out that Emmett always had a grin slapped on his face. "Is she coming tonight?"

"As soon as she gets off work." Rosalie looked over at the clock and frowned. "Actually, she should be here in a few minutes. Stay and meet her. You'll see what I mean."

I did as she said, amazed to find that I didn't really want to go yet. I had a glass of punch and watched Emmett open his presents. He reminded me of a kid on Christmas morning as he ripped open the paper with gusto. Rosalie looked on indulgently, laughing at some of the more off-color gifts and appearing to take real satisfaction from his pleasure. They were a good match after all, and I now understood why Dr. Whitlock had worked so hard with Rosalie to keep her relationship strong.

It was a little awkward when he opened my card. I hadn't known what to get him, so on an impulse I'd purchased a gift card at a nearby delicatessen, figuring that a man his size probably ate half his weight in groceries a week. "Damn, Bella, I _love_ this place," he boomed. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"Fabulous," Rosalie sighed, plucking the gift certificate out of his fingers and adding it to the pile of cards. "Now he's going to come home every night smelling like salami."

He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. "You know salami makes you horny, babe."

"No offense, Rose, but I don't really want to know what makes you horny."

I twisted around in my chair to see who had spoken. A gorgeously-dressed girl was standing by the door, laden down with a handful of polka-dotted gift bags.

"About time you got here. Come in." Rosalie sounded less than enthusiastic.

If the girl picked up on Rosalie's tone, she didn't acknowledge it. At first I thought she was a teenager, but as she approached, I realized that she had to be my age at least, or even a bit older. Her dark hair, carefully teased into artful spikes, was exactly the shade of Emmett's, though her eyes were a lovely green rather than blue. This must be his sister. What had Rosalie called her? The Peppy Princess? As I watched her prance into the room, I decided the description had been apt.

Her perky face crumpled into a frown as she noticed the opened packages and half-demolished cake. "You didn't wait?"

"Nope. Sorry, short stuff." Emmett pulled her into a headlock and scrubbed his fist through her hair while she shrieked at him to stop ruining her 'do. He let her go, dodging her tiny fists as she threw a punch at his stomach. "We left some cake for you, though."

"You better have." She socked his massive chest and then skipped over to the table to get herself some food, her disappointment apparently forgotten. Rosalie glanced at me from over Emmett's shoulder and rolled her eyes. I took a sip of punch to hide my smile.

Another round of drinks were brought out by the servers. I declined, knowing that I would have to drive myself home. Emmett's sister chose a hot pink margarita and came over to the table.

"Hi!" she said, sliding onto the chair next to me. "I'm Alice Cullen."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Bella. I only met Emmett last week, but I've known Rosalie for a while longer."

"Em's like that," she said with a laugh. "He's best friends with everyone. I'm surprised Rose invited you, though. She doesn't warm up to people easily. You must be special."

I might have suspected her of being sarcastic if she hadn't looked so sweetly sincere.

Digging around for something to talk about, I gestured to her slice of cake. "Rosalie said you made that. You do beautiful work."

She beamed. "Thank you! I love my job; there's just something so _exciting_ about weddings, and I get to go to them all the time. It's a major perk in the business. Someday I'd like to open my own agency, but I like working with Kate too. She's amazing. Have you ever heard of 'Denali Dream Weddings?' That's our place.

"Kate and her sisters own it, but Kate really runs the show. Tanya's more for publicity, if you know what I mean, and Irina does the accounts. They're all really nice – well, Tanya's not so much – but it's still fabulous. Where do you work? Do you like it? Do you have a boyfriend?"

My head was spinning as I tried to keep up with her. "I'm still a student at UW, actually. I'm doing graduate work for a psychology degree."

"Oh, wow! You must be smart. I went to UW too. I'm so glad my college years are over. I really wanted to be an interior designer, but I decided I liked throwing parties more!" She smiled, twirling the umbrella in her drink. "It's lucky that my parents supported me in the business, even though it wasn't what they'd expected from me. Actually, Em threw them for a loop too – he has some brains, believe it or not – and we all thought he would go into engineering. Well, I suppose a mechanic isn't all that far off. So, are you from Seattle?"

"I'm from Forks. You've probably never heard of it; it's out in the middle of nowhere. I lived in Phoenix with my mom until I was seventeen, and then I moved back to Forks to stay with Charlie."

"Ooh, is Charlie your boyfriend?"

I almost choked on my drink. "God, no. Charlie's my dad."

Alice giggled. "Sorry. Disturbing mental image, right?" She bounced in her seat. "You know what's worse? My dad – he's a surgeon at Northwest Hospital – he looks good for his age, and when I was in high school, my friends used to call him Dr. McSexy."

"That must have been awkward."

"You have no idea. All the nurses are wild for him too. It drives Mom insane. I swear, this one nurse is practically obsessed with him. It's really funny, because Dad is the last person in the world who would ever mess around, especially with a co-worker." A waitress passed by us, and Alice reached out to snag another drink. "Crazy, huh?"

"Yeah." I unwilling visualized someone hitting on my dad – quiet, stolid Charlie in his police uniform and penny loafers – and I felt a sudden rush of sympathy for Alice. Talk about uncomfortable.

"So, are you going out with someone?"

I shook my head, a little embarrassed.

"I haven't had a date for two months, at least," Alice whispered. "The last guy I went out with was a real goof. He totally had octopus hands."

Okay. Too much information. "That's a shame."

"Not really. James and I just didn't work anyway. He _was_ cute though." She sighed wistfully and then abruptly brightened. "You know what, if you're not seeing anyone, we should go on a date together!"

"Alice, I'm sorry, but I really don't..uh.._like_ you like that..."

"Not _that_ way! I meant we should pick up some guys and go on a double date, since we're both having some trouble in the romance department. It would be fun, come on! Are you busy this Friday?"

"I have a lot of work to do, Alice. Maybe some other time."

"Oh, okay. I'll drop it." She gave me a pouty look. "For now, anyway."

We chatted and laughed, and I found, for the second time that night, that I was enjoying myself. I liked Alice, even if she was a little overly friendly. We traded numbers, and she made me promise to call her soon.

By the time I finally made it back to my truck, it was well after one in the morning. I could hardly believe that I had been out for almost five hours. I hadn't done this sort of thing since freshman year, when Jake and I sneaked out to go to a "big kid party" at his friend Jared's house.

Because I didn't tolerate alcohol well, I never drank much and consequently didn't have to worry about driving home; the half-glass of beer hadn't left me buzzed in the slightest. The drive was fairly long, (I lived almost directly across the city) but I sang along with the radio and played the air-drums on my steering wheel, feeling content, satisfied, and about five years younger.

Man, I _really_ needed to get out more.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for your PMs and reviews, guys! And three cheers for SR Devaste, as always._

**_I noticed that a few authors were doing this, and I thought it was a cute idea to get some teasers out there: after every chapter, when you review, I'll PM you a fabulous teaser from the next chapter. Sound good? _**

* * *


	6. DOLCE, GABBANA, AND THE CULLENS

CHAPTER FIVE

DOLCE, GABBANA, AND THE CULLENS

Seth didn't wake me the next morning – that privilege was granted to my cell phone. I smacked my hand on the bedside table without lifting my face from the pillow, groping blindly for the source of that irritating buzzing. Pressing the 'talk' button, I raised my head and mumbled, "What?"

"Hi, Bella! It's me."

"Who?"

"Alice, of course! Where do you live?"

Hazy from sleep, I recited my address. It didn't occur to me to ask why she wanted it.

"Great, I'll see you soon. Bye!"

There was a click, and the dial tone buzzed in my ear. What had just happened? Surely she didn't mean. . . ? Nah. Burying my nose back into the blanket, I closed my eyes and attempted to doze off.

The sound of the door buzzer startled me a few minutes later, and I swore, shoving the pillow over my head. God, why could I never just wake up with the fricking alarm clock? This had to be some sort of vast irritate-Bella-and-keep-her-sleep-deprived conspiracy.

Fully determined to give my uncalled visitor a piece of my mind, I hurried to the door and buzzed the lock. It was probably some guy coming to see my neighbor Jessica, a middle-aged divorcee who had a new piece of man-candy over every month. It wouldn't be the first time someone had stumbled onto my doorstep by mistake – the room numbers were peeling off the wood, and the landlord was too lazy to replace them.

I flung the door open furiously, prepared with my most intimidating frown, but I stopped mid-swing: Alice Cullen, immaculately swathed in a green summer dress and cute white cardigan with her hair curled over her ears, was standing in front of my door, dainty hand upraised to knock.

I could only gape in horror. I had a massive case of bed-head, my legs had gone unshaved for a week, and...oh, _God_...I was wearing flannel pajamas.

She was staring at me with pure disbelief, but she managed to shake herself off quickly. Grasping my shoulders, she propelled me back into the apartment and closed the door. "It's okay, Bella, I'm here now. I'll help."

"Help with what?"

"This in an intervention, sweetie," she said, looking like the military's chicest drill sergeant. "Now where's your bedroom? I need to have a peek in your closet to determine how serious this situation is."

"Alice..."

She was a force of nature. With a strength I didn't suspect she possessed, she pushed me into down the hall and into my room, her little hands prodding into my back to keep my feet moving.

She clicked her tongue as she sorted through my conservative wardrobe, sighing or nodding every so often; I sat by nervously after I'd cleaned up a little, feeling as though I was being subjected to some sort of strange evaluation. After she'd invaded my privacy enough – thankfully she felt no need to go through my underwear drawer – she plopped down next to me on the bed, taking my hands and looking at me very seriously.

"Okay, Bella, I've got some good news. It isn't as bad as I thought. You have a pretty good style, although you could definitely jazz things up a little. Brighter colors would look great on you... Anyway, I think you'll make a full recovery if we just get you some good shoes and a few more accessories to spice up your 'look.'" She exhaled loudly. "Good thing we're going shopping today."

"We are?"

"Of course! Why else would I be here so early? We'll need to beat the crowd if we want to get the good deals."

There was no arguing – the last thing I wanted to do was hurt Alice's feelings, especially since she seemed so excited. I didn't mind shopping, but it certainly wasn't my favorite activity. Besides, somehow I doubted Alice would want to go to K-Mart.

After I was presentable, Alice rushed me out the door, insisting that she would drive. I understood why as soon as I spotted the glittering yellow sports car idling by the curb. "Wow."

She beamed, stroking the hood with the air of a proud parent. "Yeah, I know. Isn't she _gorgeous?_ I only got her last week, but I think she may already be my favorite."

Following Alice's lead, I ventured into the spectacular car and eased myself cautiously onto the buttery-smooth leather of the passenger seat. There were so many buttons and gadgets on the dash that I was reminded of an airplane cockpit. After buckling my seatbelt, I folded my hands in my lap, afraid to touch anything else.

Alice slammed on the gas, and the Porsche shot forward without a second's hesitation. She sped down the deserted street, jetting past the '20 MPH' sign on the corner. "Feel how beautifully she shifts!" she shouted over the rush of wind from our open windows as we rocketed onto the highway. "Marvelous, isn't it?"

"It's really...fancy."

"I saw one just like it in Rosalie's garage," she hollered back, "and I knew that this was the car for me." She bent forward and planted an affectionate kiss on the steering wheel.

And just who buys a ridiculously expensive luxury car on a whim after seeing it once in a shop window? Alice Cullen, apparently.

After a quick stopover in Pioneer Square, we ended up downtown, where Alice cut off two lanes of traffic to parallel-park the Porsche right in front of her favorite boutique, a French place with a name that I couldn't pronounce.

We walked from store to store, and the morning passed in a blur of silks, shoes, purses, and piles of expensive accessories. I could hardly keep the shops straight. I'd never been to any of them, but Alice was greeted by the sales clerks like a regular. We were even offered glasses of complimentary champagne once, and one of the stores had a live jazz band playing softly in the background.

I was completely lost. Once or twice while Alice was consulting with the clerks over some scrap of lace or a snagged thread, I would find something that I liked. One glance at the price tag would scare me off at once; the cheapest thing I found all day was a cashmere scarf for $114.

Alice, however, was totally in her element. She whipped out her shiny black credit card at almost every store, seeming unconcerned when the bill would ring up in the four-digit bracket. I nearly had a heart-attack at the first store, when Alice saw me examining an Gucci handbag that was tagged at over $500 and immediately offered to add it to her own pile, which had already added up to over a thousand dollars. I refused as tactfully as I could, and luckily she backed off.

Still, we had fun. I had a fabulous time bonding over girly stuff with Alice, learning those little things that are so essential in a relationship. 'Alice' was actually her middle name – her legal first name was Mary – but no one ever called her that except the grandmother she'd been christened after. She loved Chinese food and hated fortune cookies because she claimed that she always got lousy fortunes. Her parents and brother liked to go to football games; she never knew what was happening on the field so she chose teams to root for based solely on how their uniforms looked. English had been her worst subject in college because she had a bad habit of recycling old book reports and getting caught. She had never fallen in love, though she was confident that her future husband would be tall, dark, and handsome. Her favorite color was maroon, and she once ate a handful of mud on a dare from Emmett.

Four long hours later, the Porsche was full of packages and boxes of all shapes and sizes. One small bag was mine, from a nearby Target which Alice had grudgingly stopped at on our way to find some lunch. She'd felt bad that I hadn't gotten anything, even though I assured her it was no trouble, and to make it up to me, she'd soiled herself with the taint of middle-class merchandise. I'd decided on a simple blue sweater that Alice had reluctantly approved of, since she thought the royal blue color looked good against my skin. I wasn't so sure, but it was under twenty bucks, so that made it acceptable to me.

To rest our aching feet, we stopped at a local mall food court and ordered from the Asian menu. We sat by the windows, eating off our plastic trays and watching the other shoppers.

Alice told me funny stories about her family in between bites, and it wasn't long before we were both laughing over some of the more colorful episodes. They sounded like a tightly-knit and loving family, and I felt a small pang as she described shared holidays and crazy vacations. There had been a disadvantage in having divorced parents: I'd never felt like they loved me any less because of their split, but there had been some indefinable distance with them, as if I never exactly belonged in either of their lives.

"It must be nice having an older brother," I said, digging into my sweet-and-sour chicken. "I always wanted some kids to play with when I was younger, but I was an only child." I giggled, thinking of how Jake had teased and frustrated me so much when we were little. "Of course, if I'd actually had siblings, I probably wouldn't have been so enthusiastic about the whole thing. My parents spoiled me like crazy, and I think I would have been jealous if I'd had to share their attention. Did you ever wish you'd been an only child?"

Alice's smile slipped. "Never."

I paused, trying to understand what I'd said that had upset her. "Are you alright?" If I'd been smart, I would have kept my mouth shut, but my prying tendencies were always at the forefront.

"I'm fine." She pasted a grin on her face and pointed out the mini carousel on the other end of the food court. "I used to love merry-go-rounds, but they always made me dizzy. I went on my very first one when I was four, and when I got off it I threw up on Emmett's shoes."

I snorted into my cup, and that awful empty look ebbed from Alice's face.

"I don't think he's forgiven me for that yet," she added happily, rubbing her hands together. "He's a complete wimp, really. Did you know he faints at the sight of blood? I think that finally clued Dad in that Em wasn't going to follow in his footsteps and become a heart surgeon."

After lunch, we went directly back to my apartment; Alice was heading out for an evening at her parents' house, which was just beyond the city limits, and even with her insane speeding, she was afraid of being late.

Waving goodbye at the door, I waited until the Porsche had zoomed around the corner before walking up the flight of stairs to my room. I was met at the door by Seth, who was impatient for his dinner, dashing back and forth between my legs and his empty food dish.

I hung the blue sweater in my closet and went to fill Seth's bowl. The day had been a full one, and I'd enjoyed it, even if Alice was a more aggressive friend than I was used to. I liked her; she was spunky, full of zest and an energy that seemed boundless. She'd made a special effort to reach out to me, though I didn't know why, and I looked forward to spending more time in her company. Still. . . .

There was something a little strange about the way she talked. I'd been trained to pick up on the nuances of facial expression and body language, but I couldn't put my finger on what I was seeing.

Shaking my head, I sat down next to Seth and stroked his back while he scarfed down his kibble. Alice Cullen was a sweet and genuine person, but there was something a little bit _off _about her.

* * *

The next session with Dr. Whitlock was an interesting one. He had decided that it was my turn to ask some questions; I was going to be behind the desk, so to speak. I wasn't afraid of Rosalie's reaction so much as I was afraid of disappointing the doctor's expectations.

After the night of Emmett's party, things had been less tense between Rosalie and I. I didn't know what it was exactly that caused her change of heart, but whatever it was, I was grateful that I was no longer bombarded by her silent disapproval. Maybe I'd finally earned the Rosalie Hale Stamp of Approval.

Much to my relief, Dr. Whitlock chose to leave the office while we talked, explaining that he didn't want me to feel like this was a test – it was simply practice with a patient. I felt much more at ease once the door shut behind him, and it was just Rosalie and I.

The first order of business was to talk a little more about her parents. They were a particularly tender subject, and I could see that Rosalie harbored a lot of bitterness where her mother was concerned. She had made tentative peace with her father a while ago – she sent and received Christmas cards, and they telephoned once or twice a year – but there hadn't been word from her mother since she'd left home seven years ago.

"You know what she said to me when I tried to tell her, Bella? 'Don't make up stories, Rosie.'" Rosalie raised her voice in a cruel imitation of her mother's voice. "'Nobody likes a liar, Rosie.' 'Don't cause trouble, Rosie.'"

"Maybe your mother didn't know how to cope with the situation either?" As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn't.

She snorted. "No. She just didn't want to stir things up. _Uncle Royce_ was everybody's darling. They would have accused Mother of lying if she spoke up. There was so much money involved; he was a bachelor, and if he was convicted of child abuse and. . .you know. . . then his property would have gone to Father for management. Of course, my greedy cousins didn't want that."

"Child abuse and what?" I asked, knowing the answer already.

She sighed and forced the words out. "Sexual abuse." Rosalie hated saying it, but Dr. Whitlock insisted on her speaking openly and making herself familiar with the reality of what had happened to her. Avoidance had been her method of coping in the past.

I tapped my capped pen on the desk thoughtfully. I hadn't used my notebook today; I wanted this to be a simple conversation between two people. "What would you say to your mother if she was here right now? Is there anything you would tell her?"

That brought on a round of cursing that left my ears ringing. Rosalie had an impressive vocabulary. After a minute or so, I gently cut her off, asking whether she had ever considered taking the first step and calling her mother, or even sending a postcard. Pride was a powerful force, and Mrs. Hale might be as regretful as her daughter but unable to make the leading gesture. Rosalie flatly refused.

With an internal sigh, I let the conversation drift off in other directions. We weren't going to get far today; she was tired and emotionally drained after a long week at the shop, and quite frankly, I wasn't too confident myself. I wondered whether I had done the right thing in pushing Rosalie about her mother. I didn't think it was healthy to internalize that grief, but at the same time I was unsure whether I had approached the subject correctly. As long as I didn't stunt her progress or anything...

"So, I heard that the Peppy Princess dragged you along on one of her shopping trips," Rosalie remarked, as I came back into the office with two black coffees that Angela had made for us.

"She did. It kind of took me by surprise."

"Isn't she outrageous?" She took a long sip of coffee. "Bet she offered to buy you half of Alhambra."

"It was a little uncomfortable, but she was being generous," I said, feeling defensive on Alice's behalf.

"Oh, lighten up. She's like Emmett: too generous for her own good. Actually, the entire family's like that."

"The Cullens seem close to each other." I thought of Alice's face when we talked over lunch. "Rosalie, are they having any problems?"

Before I could rethink how nosy that question had been, Rosalie had already answered. "No. They're too damn perfect to have problems like normal people."

"What do you mean?"

She smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Look, Esme and Carlisle are really nice. They never made a fuss about Emmett dating me, as out of it as I was, but they're just. . . I don't know. Too nice? I've been with them quite a bit over the last two years, and I've never once seen them fight or get upset or even talk smack. I mean, not even Alice and Emmett go beyond teasing. It's just weird. They're like pod-people or something.

"The first time I went over to meet them, Esme had a fricking _pie_ cooling in the window. Who does that anymore? The woman has some kind of June-Cleaver complex. Seriously." Her pocket buzzed, and she pulled out her cell phone. "Hello? Yeah, I'm almost done. No, I'll be there soon. Just don't do anything stupid, okay? I'll be there in ten." Slipping her phone into her purse, she stood up. "I've got to run, Bella. Felix is having trouble with one of the cars. Sometimes I swear the only thing that man is good for is clean-up. See you later?"

"Sure, Rosalie. Good luck with the car."

She gathered her things and left, waving as she she slipped out of the office. I followed, finding Dr. Whitlock in the reception area, talking with Angela. "Ah, Miss Swan, I see you're finished up." He smiled warmly. "A job well done, I'd say. No problems?"

"No shouting or fistfights, anyway."

He chuckled. "Just what I wanted to hear. Are you comfortable doing this again next week?"

"If Rosalie doesn't mind, I'd love to. I hope you don't mind, but I didn't take notes this time."

"No problem. As I said, these will be private conversations between you and Rosalie. You don't need to report back to me." With that, he clapped my shoulder and bid me a good night, disappearing back into his office.

Angela laughed at my giddy expression. "Nice work, Bella. We knew it was going well when Ms. Hale didn't storm out of the office. Dr. Whitlock's been smiling the entire hour. He really loves it when his interns succeed. It gives him an ego boost, I think."

I laughed. "He deserves it. How's Eric doing today?" Angela was just entering her seventh month of pregnancy, and she and her husband, Ben, had decided they wanted to know the baby's gender. They had intended to keep it a surprise until the delivery, but they'd found it too difficult to get all the baby's things prepared when they weren't sure whether to buy pink or blue. At my last visit, I had stayed an hour after the session to look at the ultrasound glamour shots of Eric Connor Cheney. Angela glowed with pride every time someone said her son's name.

"Fussy," she replied cheerfully, patting her belly. "He's been kicking all day; Ben swears he's going to be a soccer star."

The door opened as Dr. Whitlock's next appointment came in, and I excused myself quickly. There was a certain stigma about a psychologist's office, and people tended to be uncomfortable with a crowd loitering around the reception area. Angela always scheduled slots a half-hour apart to give the uneasy patients a chance to avoid other contacts.

Once I was back at the apartment, I decided to take Seth on a quick walk, feeling guilty for neglecting him. As annoying as he was in the mornings, he was still a well-behaved dog and my only companion at home. Seeing the leash in my hand, he bounced around the living room in a frenzy of excitement; I had learned to hide his leashes when they weren't in use, because every time Seth saw one, he went crazy.

We explored one of the local parks, playing a quick game of fetch on the green and then walking down one of the trails. The weather was fairly sunny, and we both enjoyed the fresh air and exercise. The treadmill in my apartment just didn't compare to a real jog outside. Seth had his nose permanently glued to the ground, and he only looked up when another dog passed by; then he would tug on the leash in an attempt to sidle up to the stranger and make some smooth chit-chat – he was a real Lothario.

It was pathetic, really, when your dog got more action than you did.

* * *

_A/N: M'kay, we're on all new chapters from here on out. Thanks as always to SR Devaste for being amazing!_

_I've been thinking about starting a thread for 'Voices' on the Twilighted Forums, but I'd like to know first if anyone would be interested. I'm not too sure about the etiquette of posting a thread either. I have some more teasers to post, and I'd be thrilled to have character discussions and answer questions about *gasp* the conspicuously absent Edward. Would anyone want to participate in something like that? Anyone? Bueller?_

**_I noticed that a few authors were doing this, and I thought it was a cute idea to get some teasers out there: after every chapter, when you review, I'll PM you a fabulous teaser from the next chapter. Sound good?_**

* * *


	7. MATCHMAKER

CHAPTER SIX

MATCHMAKER

If there was one word to describe Alice, that word would be _persistent_. In the next few weeks, she stopped by my apartment on every free afternoon I had to drag me on some new adventure in an attempt to expose me to 'culture'. Shopping was high on her agenda, but we also went to an avant-garde museum of fashion design, an amateur film festival, an art gallery, and a salon where I had my hair hacked at by some guy named Paolo.

It was all in good fun – except for the haircut – but it would have been nicer if we'd done something normal like going out for coffee or spending an evening indoors watching chick flicks. She was trying too hard, attempting to bolster a friendship and relate to me in the only way she knew how, but her world was too different from mine. I wondered if this was how to she interacted with all her other friends; Rosalie had said she was popular.

Thankfully, Alice was also able to take a hint. After a gentle tip that I was more comfortable just spending time with her without all the bells and whistles, she eased back. My suggestion of movie nights and dinners out were received with her usual enthusiasm, and on occasion, Rosalie joined us. For someone who professed such annoyance with Alice, she was awfully willing to spend her weekends with us, or at least the weekends when Emmett was busy.

Rosalie continued to allow me to lead her sessions, and I'd grown accustomed to our quasi-friendship – I'd even had both her and Emmett over for supper a few times. One day after a morning baking spree, I'd taken a plate of cookies to share with Dr. Whitlock's crew. Rose had brought some home to Emmett, and that was that. I'd gotten a call from him that night, and somehow over the course of the conversation, he'd finagled himself an invitation to dinner at my apartment.

I hadn't minded, really. It didn't take long to learn that that was just Emmett. Like his sister, he was too charming to resist. Besides, I hadn't had the opportunity to cook for anyone since my years with Charlie, and I missed it sometimes, as cooking was one of my passions. I'd had a blast looking up some fresh recipes to try for the meal and shopping for the ingredients. Emmett proved to be an ideal dinner guest: he took seconds of everything and complimented it all, and Rosalie, though she seemed exasperated at her boyfriend's table manners, thanked me cordially on her way out. The evening had gone so well that they'd been back twice more, once with Alice.

However, I had discovered that fostering a relationship there might not be the best thing in the world. Rosalie and Alice combined were an unbeatable force, and when they actually agreed on something, it was certain to cause widespread mayhem. At the moment, they were allied in an effort to pry into my love life.

Alice had never forgotten about our conversation the night of the birthday party, and the idea of a double-date had resurfaced, morphing into a triple-date along with Rosalie and Emmett. She'd already chosen the place _and_ found some guys.

"Bella, come on," she whined, as I refused to go for about the seventh time. "Tyler's really fun, and he said his friend wants to meet you. It can't hurt, can it? I've known Tyler for a long time, and if he says this guy is good for you, then he is."

"No. You can tell him I'm not interested."

"I can't say that. This is my first date with Tyler, and I don't want to start off our relationship by telling him that my friend thinks his friend isn't worth one itty-bitty date! Do you want to jeopardize my romantic agenda?" She stuck out her lower lip, fluttering her lashes. "Please, please, please, Bella! Don't ruin my night. I really like Tyler, and I think we might have a chance together. Just for one date, and if you don't like him that much, you never have to see him again. Please?"

Well, when she put it that way. . . . "Fine. One date."

"Goody!" Diving into her purse, she punched in a number on her phone. "Tyler? Yeah, it's Alice. Bella's good to go. No, no, he doesn't have to. We'll meet you guys there. Sure, she won't mind. Bye!"

And that was how I found myself waiting in the lobby of a dimly-lit bar in a too-tight dress and outrageous spiked heels. Earlier in the day Alice had dropped off my outfit, complete with makeup and a straightener, with stern instructions to wear everything. I felt like a hooker, but Alice had assured me that Tyler's friend would love my new look. Yeah, I'll bet he would. I'd studied enough literature on the Madonna-Cyprian complex, thanks very much.

Rosalie and Emmett were already here, but they'd gone inside to find a table while Alice and I waited for our dates. I was more nervous than anything else; my dating schedule had been fairly dry since high school, when I'd had an embarrassingly brief relationship with my Biology lab partner. Ugh. I really didn't want to dredge up those memories right now.

We waited. . . and waited. Alice was tapping her foot impatiently, darting looks at the clock. They were late. I could tell by her expression that Tyler was already in her black book – Alice disliked people who had no grasp of elementary etiquette, and that etiquette definitely included not showing up for a date on time.

Eventually they came, about twenty minutes past the hour. I studied the two men hurrying toward us. The shorter one, a dark-haired man with nicely-tailored clothes, wore an apologetic look, but the other, tall and blond, was grinning at us. Either he was too confident to falter at the sight of Alice's stormy expression, or he was just plain stupid.

"Alice, I am so sorry," the dark one burst out, as soon as they'd reached us. "I could have sworn that it only took fifteen minutes to get here from Mike's house, but the traffic was insane! We didn't keep you waiting long, did we?"

"Only half an hour," Alice said tartly.

He produced a little posy from his pocket and handed it to her tentatively. "I hope you'll forgive me."

Her face softened. "I suppose I will if you buy me a drink."

"Gladly." Noticing me, he added, "You must be Bella."

"Yes. It's nice to meet you."

"You too. I'm Tyler Crowley, and this is my best friend, Michael Newton."

"Call me Mike." The blond stuck out his hand; I tried to shake it, but he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. I thought he was being facetious, but he looked so serious that I didn't dare laugh.

"My brother and his girlfriend have a table for us," Alice said. "Bella and I have been out here long enough. Let's go in."

Inside it was hot and smoky and loud. People milled around the room with drinks and plates of appetizers, and a few couples were on the small dance floor, grinding to a thundering beat. Emmett and Rosalie had found a table far in the back corner; it was separate from most of the commotion, but it was still necessary to shout over the noise.

"There you are," Rosalie snapped as we finally sat down. "What took you so long?"

"Yeah! I thought you stood us up." Emmett pasted on a look of deep hurt. "Am I not good enough for you anymore, Bella? I _knew_ you were drifting away from me! What happened to our love?"

I snorted.

Mike shifted uneasily next to me before announcing,"Actually, Bella's with me tonight."

Emmett gazed at him incredulously. "Easy, man. I'm just messing with her." He caught my eye and raised his heavy eyebrows, as if to say _Is this guy for real?_

I just shrugged and turned my attention back to my date, who had reddened with embarrassment. Maybe he was suffering from a case of nerves too.

The server collected our orders and the awkward moment passed. Mike liked to talk, so I found myself listening quietly, sipping at my lemonade and volunteering the occasional sentence when he asked me a question. He was nice (if a little too eager) and quite attractive in an all-American-boy way, although I was fairly certain that his eyes occasionally dipped down to my cleavage when he thought I wasn't looking. At least he was subtle about it.

On any other night, I might have been pleased with the company, but I just couldn't muster up an interest in him. There wasn't any spark. Still, I didn't mind hearing about his family or his work, so I didn't make a fuss when the others left us alone in favor of the dance floor.

"Do you want to dance too?" he asked, rubbing his palms together anxiously.

"Not really, unless you're dying to have your feet stepped on. I'm too clumsy for dancing."

He smiled, looking relieved. "Yeah, I'm not much of a dancer either."

The two of us picked through the appetizers as he asked me about myself. I learned that he was from Forks too, though he and his family had left town two years before I arrived there; his parents had owned a hiking and camping supply store in the town. He knew my father and seemed delighted at the coincidental meeting of a fellow Forks native; it didn't take too much to please him, apparently.

The evening passed by in unbelievably slow increments, and eventually even Mike ran out of things to say. We sat in companionable silence, watching people at the bar and listening to Emmett tell mechanical horror stories from his years at the garage. I didn't understand half of what he said, but his expressions and gestures made him fun to watch – he never held back. Perhaps that was one of the traits that had attracted Rosalie, since she was so tightly restrained.

By this time, our table had gone through quite a bit of food and drinks. Alice was snuggled up to Tyler's side as they kissed rather enthusiastically. I noticed that Emmett was looking pointedly in the other direction, feigning great interest in the dancers. Shaking her head, Rosalie took his hand and led him to a side room which was filled with a collection of pool tables and air-hockey sets. After another cumbersome pause, Mike suggested that we hang out by the bar, ostensibly to flee from the lip-locked duo. I was glad to get away.

As the party around us began to wind down, I decided that I'd had enough. I was tired, and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed with a book and some hot cocoa. This place was giving me a headache.

"Hey, Mike, do you mind —"

"Bella, I was thinking I'd — "

We both laughed. "Please, ladies first," he said.

"It's getting pretty late, and I do have some work to do in the morning. Would you be terribly upset if I went home early?"

He looked sheepish. "Not at all, I was just about to say the same thing. I have a meeting at seven tomorrow, and I'd hate to fall asleep in the middle of the director's weekly report. It wouldn't help my chances for a promotion, anyway." After a short pause he added hopefully, "Would you like to go out again sometime?"

"I had a nice time tonight, Mike, but I just don't think I'm ready to. . . pursue anything more."

He shrugged his shoulders, smiling at me ruefully. "Well, it was worth a shot."

After making sure that I had a ride home, he said goodbye to the others and grabbed his coat. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Bella. If you change your mind, give Tyler a call, and he'll know where to find me."

"I'll keep that in mind." I waved as he walked out into the street, turning up his collar against the onslaught of rain.

That had gone better than I'd expected, and I was grateful that he hadn't seemed insulted by my refusal. Mike was a sweet guy, and I hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings when he'd been so gracious a date.

When I returned to the table to collect my purse and coat, I found Alice on Tyler's lap, with the biggest glass of daiquiri I'd ever seen clutched in her hand. I tapped her shoulder to get her attention. "Alice, I'm going to take a cab home."

She looked over at me with unfocused eyes, and I doubted that she'd understood me.

"Do you need something before I leave?" I said more loudly. "Do you want some Advil? You'll have a hangover tomorrow if you keep drinking that. I think you might be drunk already."

Alice waggled her glass, spilling half of the electric-green liquid onto the tabletop. "You're funny," she slurred. "I don't get _drunk_, 'cuz I'm a girl. Girls get a little _tipsy_."

Tyler nodded, with an unsteadiness that convinced me that he was also three sheets to the wind. "Allie's a great girl. Yup, great girl, great girl."

_Allie?_

"Yeah." Alice hiccuped and then giggled. "I'll stay here now Ty-Ty, m'kay?"

_Ty-Ty?_

"Are you sure?" She looked more than 'a little tipsy' to me.

"Uh huh. Have lotsa fun, Burma."

What the hell? Okay, Alice _was_ drunk. I wondered if it was safe to leave her here, but she shooed me away, smothering Tyler's face with kisses.

I wiggled through the crowd to find Rosalie, who was watching Emmett destroy some guy at billiards. "Hey, Rose? Do you think we should leave Alice here alone?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "She doesn't look _alone_ to me."

"That's not what I meant; I don't want her to regret something in the morning."

"You're a smart kid, Bella, but you're not getting it. She does this all the time. She's a big girl now and she can take care of herself."

I wavered, and Rosalie gave me a gentle shove toward the door. "Go home, Bella. Let Alice make her own mistakes – she always does. I'll call later to make sure she gets home."

"Thanks."

Bundling into my jacket, I went outside, shivering as the damp wind smacked my bare legs. It didn't take long to call a cab, and I hopped into the back seat the instant it arrived. Thankfully the driver had put the heater on, and I soaked up the warmth blowing from the little vents.

My eyes kept drifting shut during the ride, and when we pulled up in my building, I crammed some bills into the driver's hand and stumbled up to my apartment, into the shower, and then straight into bed. As exhausted as I was, it took me a long time to get to sleep – I couldn't stop worrying about Alice. I didn't think Tyler would hurt her, but I didn't like that she was so vulnerable.

I tossed and turned for another hour before giving up and reaching for my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found Alice's number. I stared at the glowing screen, trying to decide whether this could be considered the act of a concerned friend or whether it was just me being paranoid and nosey. I settled on the more noble cause and pressed 'call.'

Only when the phone began to ring did it occur to me that it was two o'clock in the morning and Alice might not appreciate. . . er. . . interruptions. Oh, God, why did I always have to be so awkward? _Please don't let Tyler answer the phone, please, please, please. . . ._

"Hello?"

Praise the Lord – that was Alice's voice.

"Hi, it's Bella. I just wondered how you were doing."

There was a moment of silence, and I was sure that I'd overstepped my boundaries. After all, this friendship was relatively new, and I wasn't her mother, for heaven's sake. "Alice, I'm sorry. This was idiotic. I'll hang up and let you get some sleep."

"Bella, wait." There was another pause, and I heard Alice sniffle. "Can I talk to you for awhile? I just need someone to talk to me. Please." She sounded stone-cold sober, and I was pretty sure that she was crying, or at least had been before I called.

"Alice, are you okay? Did Tyler do something to you?"

"Not now, Bella, please. Just talk to me?"

So I did, trying to keep my worry to myself. I rambled on about little things, silly things, not bothering to censor. I told her how hot and dry it was in Phoenix, and that I hated lima beans; I told her that my father still had photographs of Renee on his mantle, and I told her how Jake and I used to go down to La Push on warm summer nights and play in the surf. I told her how handsome Dr. Whitlock was and that sometimes I distracted myself during sessions because I couldn't stop staring at him – she giggled at that.

I talked until I had to stop for a glass of water, and by then, Alice seemed to have calmed down.

"Thanks, Bella," she said quietly. "I needed that."

"Alice, what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Okay. Tomorrow."

* * *

A/N: There was a great response last chapter -- thanks guys! Heartfelt kudos to SR Devaste for being an amazing critique partner; if you still haven't read her _Pygmalion_, go check it out! It's great, I promise.

**__****I noticed that a few authors were doing this, and I thought it was a cute idea to get some teasers out there: after every chapter, when you review, I'll PM you a fabulous teaser from the next chapter. Sound good?** If you don't get your teaser within a day of posting your review, make sure you PM me, and I'll send it on. I don't want to miss anybody by mistake.

* * *


	8. LEAVE IT TO BELLA

CHAPTER SEVEN

LEAVE IT TO BELLA

It turned out that when Alice said she didn't want to talk about now, she meant she didn't want to talk about it _period_. She said enough to reassure me that she hadn't been hurt and then begged me not to bring it up anymore, swearing that she would never touch another daiquiri.

I resigned myself to never knowing what had taken place between them that night. She had shoved the subject aside, determined not to revisit it. I never heard her mention Tyler Crowley again.

The end of November was swiftly approaching, and classes had already been dismissed for the Thanksgiving holiday. I was packing for my annual trip back to Forks, where I would be spending the holiday with my father and Billy Black. I didn't think Billy's daughters would be back to La Push this year, and none of us liked seeing him alone during the holidays. Jake's absence was always harder for him at those times, so Billy had been coming around to Charlie's these past few years. It was good arrangement for both of them: Billy had a day with good food and friends, and Charlie had someone to watch football with.

Because Billy was allergic to dog dander, I would be leaving Seth with Rosalie, who disliked dogs in general but had a soft spot for my schnauzer. She wasn't going to the Cullens' home for Thanksgiving with Emmett and Alice because she wanted to stay in Seattle and pick up some extra business at the garage; she explained that Thanksgiving weekend was always profitable, since there was so much additional traffic moving in and out of the city.

I was anxious to get back home, even if I didn't like leaving Seth behind, but too much of my time was spent fretting over the short drive and my meal plan for Thanksgiving dinner: I'd gone all out this year, planning to surprise Charlie with a few new recipes I'd tracked down.

I was so high-strung that even Alice noticed, and she dragged me off for lunch the day before I was set to leave so that I could unwind a little. We ordered soup and salad, and after eating, Alice went up to the long line at the counter to buy some flavored coffees for dessert.

Charlie called just as she left the table. I picked up right away – when he did call, it was usually because he had something important to say.

"Hi, Bells. You got a minute?" I could hear shuffling papers in the background, so he was still at the station. It figured; Charlie would stay at work all day if he could.

"Hi, Dad. What's up? Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," he said gruffly. "Classes going well?"

"Yes."

There was a long pause before Charlie decided to get to the point. "Bells, I know you had your heart set on Thanksgiving at home, but there's a conference that same weekend in Spokane. I would reschedule if I could, but it's just not going to happen."

"Oh." Disappointment assailed me. I_ always_ went back to Forks to cook an enormous Thanksgiving dinner and spend the weekend with him.

"I hope that's okay with you, Bells. It's just something I can't miss."

"I don't mind. I'll get work done. It'll give me a chance to finish up some stuff."

"Good." He sounded relieved. "Sorry about everything. We'll do it next year, right?"

"Yeah. Next year." I hesitated, hearing voices on the other line. "You sound busy. I'll let you get back to work."

"I suppose I'd better. Call later, Bells."

"Sure. Love you."

He cleared his throat. "Love you too."

I cut off the call and scowled down at the little screen. Alice returned with our lattes and noticed me giving my phone the evil eye. "Bella, are you alright?"

"Charlie's out-of-town on Thanksgiving weekend. It looks like Seth and I will be celebrating alone."

"That's too bad." Alice lifted her cup to take a drink before she gasped, her hand frozen halfway to her mouth. "I just had a fabulous idea! Come spend the weekend with me! Mom and Dad won't mind; the more the merrier, right?" She bounced on her chair with poorly-restrained excitement. "This will be so much fun!"

"Wait, wait. I can't just show up at your parents' house, Alice! I haven't even met them yet."

"So? This will be a perfect opportunity to get to know them. Besides, they already know all about you. Mom would love to have you over."

"I'm sorry. It's really generous of you, but I wouldn't be comfortable inviting myself over on a holiday."

"You're not – _I'm_ inviting you." I could see from the way she was staring me down that she was not going to let this go. "Please, Bella? I wouldn't feel right knowing that you were all alone. I wouldn't be able to enjoy myself at all."

Manipulative little brat. "Okay, you win," I sighed, smiling despite myself. "But please make sure your parents don't mind first, and if they do, I promise I won't be offended or anything."

Looking sly, Alice wiggled her fingers toward me. "Give me your phone."

I handed it over and she dialed quickly. "Hi, Mom! No, I'm fine. Hey, is it okay if a friend of mine comes over for Thanksgiving? Yeah – Bella. Her dad's out of town, so she's on her own. Yeah? Thanks, Mom! I love you too." Snapping the phone shut, she smirked at me, raised one haughty eyebrow, and waited.

I threw up my hands in defeat and laughed. "Mary Alice, you are impossible!"

"I know," she said smugly.

* * *

"You can do this, Rosalie." Dr. Whitlock's tone was kind but firm; he had pressed this issue too much in the last several sessions to let it go easily. "What harm can it possibly do?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe humiliate me for the rest of my life?"

"I'm not trying to downplay the enormity of this." He gestured to the greeting card on the desk between them. "I know you would be putting yourself out by sending this, but do you believe you would truly be at peace if you never took the opportunity to reopen that line of communication with your mother?"

"Yes." Seeing Dr. Whitlock's expression, she sighed. "Okay, no. But does it have to be now?"

"It doesn't, but the longer you wait, the harder it will be; the more unresponsive the two of you will be to each other. This is a prime chance for you, Rosalie. There's nothing more casual than sending a Thanksgiving card to a family member over the holidays. All you have to do is sign your name and let the card speak for you, if you want."

Her expression was torn between skepticism and a deep longing; it amazed me that I had once found her so unreadable. It all came down to watching her eyes; her face could be perfectly composed, but her eyes were always vulnerable. "And this will work?"

"It's the first step. You can never reconcile without extending some form of contact first."

Rosalie pinned him with a hard stare. "And what if I don't really want to reconcile with her?"

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

She was quiet for an endless minute. "I'll sign it. That's all."

He pushed the little folded paper toward her; it was a bright, cheerful card with a cartoon turkey and cornucopia painted on the front. She scribbled something inside and then stuffed it in the purple envelope, sealing and addressing it with a flourish before tossing it at the doctor. "Here. Are you happy now?"

"I'm happy for you." He opened a drawer and pasted a stamp into the corner. "I'll pop it in the mail on my way home."

"Gee, thanks." She rolled her eyes and stood up. "Are we done?"

"Yes, if you'd like to be done."

"Good, because I actually have things to do." She grabbed her purse and wheeled around for the exit. "Bella, drop Seth off whenever you want tomorrow."

"Okay. Bye, Rose."

She flew from the room like her pumps were on fire. Dr. Whitlock chuckled as the door shut behind her, and he dropped the envelope into his coat pocket.

"Do you think Mrs. Hale will respond?" I asked, thinking of Rosalie's half-fearful, half-eager face.

"I prefer to be an optimist," he replied. "It helps in this profession."

"I suppose." Standing up, I started to gather up my things. "Any more paperwork for me this weekend?"

"No, not this time, Miss Swan. I thought I might give you a week off for the holidays."

"I appreciate it, but I don't mind. It makes more work for you, and I'm sure you'll be just as busy as I am," I said.

"Not really; I'll be in at the office this weekend, doing some catch-up work. I don't have much family left, so I might as well be here."

"Oh. I. . . I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said pleasantly. "My staff and my colleagues are my family now. It's much easier to handle, since I never have to deal with actually being related to them. That's the kind of psychological stress that lands you in this place." He smiled at the irony, but I didn't think it was funny. My parents lived away from me most of the time, but I couldn't imagine not having them at all.

For a moment, I wondered whether the Cullens would mind having another guest over, but the next second I discarded the idea. Not only would it be professionally inappropriate, but it wasn't my place to invite him to someone else's home. I just didn't like the thought of him being alone on Thanksgiving, sitting in front of the television in his empty house and eating a TV dinner.

As if he felt my concern for him, he shook his head and smiled, a toothy, genuine smile that I had never seen from him before. It changed his entire face in a spectacular way. "You're a kind woman, Miss Swan, but I can assure you that I'm fine on my own. I daresay I'm old enough to look after myself. Enjoy your time with your friends, and if you're feeling especially generous, you can bring me back a slice of pumpkin pie from dinner. How does that sound?"

I knew he was joking, but I resolved to do exactly that. "It sounds great. Have a good weekend, Dr. Whitlock."

"Same to you, Bella."

I'd been gathering up my coat, but when he said my name, it gave me pause. I'd always been 'Miss Swan'. He noticed, of course.

"I think we've worked with each other long enough to use first names, don't you think?" he said.

"It's fine. . . um. . . Jasper." I shook my head at the strange sound of it – he just didn't look like a _Jasper_ to me. "I appreciate the gesture, but do you mind very much if I call you Dr. Whitlock? It just doesn't sound right, somehow."

He smiled. "Whatever you're comfortable with. Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight."

I left the office that evening brimming with enthusiasm and a warm glow of satisfaction – there was truly no better feeling in the world.

* * *

The drive to the Cullens' home took about an hour, but with Alice behind the wheel, the actual time was shaved down to thirty minutes.

"You'll love the house," Alice enthused as we turned onto the highway. "Mom just remodeled the guest rooms on the second floor, so you'll really like yours. I picked it especially for you."

"I'm sure I'll love it. Alice, you're positive that they don't mind?"

She glared at me from over the rim of her sunglasses. "I've already told you a thousand times that it's fine. Quit worrying! _You_ have nothing to worry about."

I frowned. "And you do?"

"Nothing big," she said with a shrug. "Did I tell you about the gorgeous new caterer Irina hired? He's French – his name is Laurent – and he has the most deliciousaccent. I think he was totally flirting with me yesterday . . . "

My attention drifted away from Alice's commentary about the Gallic God as we turned up the driveway to the largest house I'd ever seen.

"No _way_."

"That's exactly what I said!" Alice fiddled with the radio, making the Porsche swerve to the left. "I mean, he was being so obvious, it couldn't have been an accident."

"No, no," I interrupted, pointing to the sprawling estate in front of us. "Is _this_ your parents' place?"

She glanced up. "Yup."

"Alice, this is huge! You didn't tell me they lived in a mansion."

"Actually, it's a castle. The turrets are in the back."

"Not funny," I grumbled.

"Oh, stop it, Bella. So what if they live in a nice house? My parents aren't snobs."

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant at all. I was just taken by surprise, I guess."

She nodded graciously. "I know it can be kind of intimidating. Anyway, come on in. They'll be expecting us."

Taking my small overnight bag from the trunk, I followed Alice up the paved walk to the front door. The Cullen home was in the style of a Southern plantation, three stories high and flanked by a wrap-around porch and a tea garden. With its white paint job, picket fence, and perfectly-trimmed lawn dotted with apple trees, it looked like a giant dollhouse.

A woman appeared in the doorway, and Alice ran up the steps to give her a kiss. Turning around, she waved me forward eagerly. "Mom, this is Bella. Bella, this is my mom, Esme."

Esme Cullen was a lovely woman, one of those lucky people who looked as good at fifty as they did at fifteen. The way she dressed reminded me of a 1950s housewife: her caramel-colored hair trickled down in loose waves to her shoulders, and she wore an elegant green dress with a string of pearls and a lacy cardigan. Her smile was so warm and genuine that I couldn't help but grin in return.

"Welcome, Bella. What a pleasure it is to finally meet you." She folded me into a friendly hug, and as she pulled away, I saw that her eyes were a pretty green like Alice's.

"Thank you for having me on such short notice, Mrs. Cullen," I said. "It was so kind of you to open your home to me."

"Please, call me Esme. And it was no trouble at all, dear. We love having company." She stepped to side, holding open the door. "Come inside and make yourself comfortable. If my daughter still drives like she used to, you must need a little time to recover."

The interior of the house was equally grand; the ceiling of the foyer swept high overhead, decorated with colored tiles, and the cavernous room branched out to at least five doorways. I trailed after Alice and Esme, unwilling to linger behind for fear that I would get lost in the maze of corridors. We stopped in an enormous living room first, where Esme took my coat and invited me to sit down while she got some drinks from the kitchen.

"Your home is beautiful," I told her when she came back in with a tray of lemonade and finger sandwiches.

"She engineered and decorated everything," Alice said, piling one of the china plates with food. I must have looked astonished, because she laughed at me. "Mom's an architect. She designs other people's homes for a living, but this is her dream house."

"That's amazing, I had no idea!"

"Thank you," Esme said sweetly, sitting down next to Alice on the sofa. "Out of all the places we've lived, I love this house the most. Thankfully, Carlisle has a steady job at the hospital, so we probably won't ever have to move again. I would hate to leave; we've been so happy here."

We sat and talked a while; Esme gave me a brief overview of where the important rooms like the kitchen, bathroom, and bedrooms were, but I still felt a bit overwhelmed. There were so many knick-knacks scattered around the room, and with my inclination toward clumsiness, I was terrified of breaking something priceless.

"My husband should be home soon," Esme told me. "He's eager to meet you as well; Alice has hardly stopped talking about you. We're so pleased to see that she's made a friend."

Alice's cheeks flushed slightly. "Really, Mom, do you have to make me sound so pathetic?"

"You know that's not what I meant, dear." She sipped delicately at her lemonade. "I understand that you've met my son as well, Bella."

"I have. He fixed up my truck for me about two months ago, but I met Rosalie a little while before that."

"Of course. It will be so nice to have everyone home for Thanksgiving. Alice, do you know when Emmett planned to start off?"

"I think he said he had a shift to finish at the garage first, so he should be here by supper, unless he decides to hitch a ride with Dad."

"Well, we have a while to relax then. Alice, why don't you show Bella to her room? It should be ready for her."

Immediately Alice leapt up and shuffled me toward the staircase in the hallway. I followed her, clutching my travel bag to my side and trying to absorb everything all at once. Esme's style was prominently displayed in the modernistic furnishings and the rich color scheme of burgundy and cream. The guest room Alice had chosen for me was at the very end of the second-story wing, directly above the foyer and beautifully decorated in subtle shades of red and gold.

I put my luggage carefully on the four-poster bed and took in the scenery. On the west side of the room was an enormous bay window, revealing a silhouetted view of the city. An old rocking chair sat invitingly next to the window.

"It's lovely."

"Isn't it? I used to come in here all the time to sit by the window and look out at the skyscrapers." Alice's voice took on a wistful quality. "It was especially nice on rainy days. Everything sparkled."

"I hated the rain before I moved to Forks," I said.

She fidgeted. "Hmm. Bella, I'll be back, okay? I have to get something settled right now, but I'll come back to take you downstairs so you don't get lost on the staircase."

"Ha ha, Alice. Thanks."

I heard her footsteps retreating quickly up the stairs to the third floor. With nothing else pressing to do, I gave into temptation and sat down in the rocker. It was easy to understand what Alice had meant. There was something soothing about looking out over the horizon, as cloudy and gray as it was.

Weeks of near-constant sleep deprivation must have finally caught up with me, because the next thing I knew, Esme was standing above me, gently shaking my shoulder. "Bella, dear? Carlisle is just driving up, and we'll be eating soon. Would you like to freshen up a bit before supper?"

I hurried to stand up, embarrassed to be caught napping. "I'm sorry, I guess I was more tired than I thought."

"No need to apologize. Come down when you're ready. Use the first staircase and go to the left until you reach the living room."

"I think Alice was going to meet me," I said, still somewhat groggy. "She went upstairs."

"She's busy right now, and there's no need to wait for her. She'll join us soon."

After Esme left, I went into the adjoining bathroom and assessed the damage. My shirt was wrinkled so I slipped into a fresher one, but there was nothing to be done for my frizzy hair. Feeling a little more alert, I ventured out of the bedroom and attempted to find my way back downstairs.

By some miracle, I found the living room. Esme and Alice were already downstairs and talking softly to Emmett, who still wore his grease-stained overalls from the garage. Looking over his shoulder to see who'd come in, his face split into a grin. "If it ain't the Swan herself! How'd Alice rope you into coming here for the weekend?"

"My dad's out of town, and Alice can be very convincing."

"You don't say?" he laughed.

"Carlisle," Esme exclaimed happily, flitting over to the doorway, where a tall, handsome man was placing his coat and briefcase on a side table. His face bore a trace of Emmett's distinctive features as well as his familiar blue eyes, but his hair was a brilliant shade of gold, slicked back with meticulous care.

"Here are my two favorite girls!" He hugged his wife and daughter, and then turned to me with a welcoming smile. "And you must be Bella. Alice has told us so much about you."

"Hello, Dr. Cullen. Thanks for having me." I shook his hand; his grip was firm and confident.

"It's no trouble," he said warmly. "We're always glad to have guests." It was odd but endearing that his response was so similar to his wife's. Alice had been right; her parents really were used to housing all sorts of people on short notice. It was an unfamiliar concept to me, as Charlie was very much a believer in the maxim 'a man's house is his castle,' and no strangers ever walked through those castle doors to stay the night. Maybe it was the policeman in him that made him wary of newcomers.

A buzzer rang somewhere in the distance, and Esme immediately snapped to attention. "The casserole is done! Everyone can come to the table, and we'll get supper put on." She pointed a finger at Emmett. "And _you_ are going to clean up before setting one foot in my kitchen. Understood?"

He held up his oil-spotted hands in a gesture of mocking surrender. "Yes, ma'am."

Supper was delicious, served up with prompt efficiency by Esme, and I spent my time enjoying the food and the lively conversation around the table. Dr. Cullen told us about his day at the hospital, Alice chatted on about Laurent's sexy accent, Emmett talked with his mouth full and let slip with the occasional swear word, and Esme scolded them all fondly. There was a real sense of family about them, a genuine sense of connection. I felt muted stirrings of envy as I watched the Cullens interact; I had never known this kind of 'All-American' family life.

Dr. Cullen was an interesting man. I had great admiration for anyone who could operate on a living human being, as I hated the sight of blood. I couldn't imagine how difficult it was to know that you were the only thing between a patient and death, yet he had worked for Seattle's Northwest Hospital for almost five years now as a head surgeon and seemed to have no intention of leaving. From what I understood from Alice, the Cullens had been all across the country, moving from place to place every two years or so. Their sojourn in Seattle was so far the longest the family had ever had, and I found myself hoping that they would stay here.

Esme could have been the quintessential mother with the way she cooked and cleaned and kept up the house, but I learned that her designs were widely recognized for their simple elegance and affordability, though I suspected that a single piece of furniture would be well beyond my price range. Esme was unusual in the sense that she not only decorated the interior of a house, but she also had the training to actually construct the measurements of the framework itself – she was a designer and an architect all in one package. Understandably, that asset kept in her in demand. Dr. Cullen informed me that her designs had even been featured in _Good Housekeeping_, though Esme modestly downplayed it.

Emmett and Alice were equally at ease; there was a calmness from Alice in particular that was remarkable to see. Although she continued to be enthusiastic and cheerful, that unrelenting brightness that seemed to irritate Rosalie so much was gone.

When dinner was over, I insisted on helping Esme load the dish washer; Emmett and Alice dragged me upstairs to play the new Wii Emmett had bought. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw his room, though Alice wrinkled her nose: the walls were painted fluorescent green, and girlie posters were tacked everywhere. It was so out of place in the Cullens' beautiful home that I wondered how he had gotten away with it.

"Hideous, isn't it? Mom tried to get him to change it," Alice said cheerfully, "but she promised us that we could decorate our own rooms, and he wouldn't budge. It's been this way since high school. She hates it. I think she's going to crack someday soon and rearrange the entire room whether he likes it or not."

"She wouldn't dare," Emmett grumbled. "My room is pretty sweet, short stuff."

Alice rolled her eyes.

I looked at the nearest poster showcasing a brunette in what looked like a very uncomfortable schoolgirl uniform. "Has Rosalie ever been in your room?"

Emmett cleared his throat. "Hey, Bella, what do you want to play? Guests pick first." He held out a handful of game disks.

"He's bribing you," Alice informed me. "His biggest fear is Rosalie discovering his den of debauchery."

We played for several hours, and I failed magnificently at everything I tried. Alice was surprisingly good at Guitar Hero, even beating Emmett, who apparently prided himself on being a master. After Alice's victory, he conveniently announced that video games were boring and flipped on the TV instead. Alice and I sat on his bed and talked while he cheered for the players on ESPN, but as soon as he started snoring on the couch, Alice changed the station.

Watching Emmett sleep reminded me of how weary I was, and by midnight I was crawling into my own bed in the guest room. It was weird not having Seth lying on my feet like he usually did, and I hoped he wasn't giving Rosalie too much trouble. I wondered where Charlie was, and whether he had somewhere to go for the holiday. Maybe there would be a restaurant in Spokane that served a decent Thanksgiving dinner.

My mind was full of plans, new people, and the upcoming weekend that already promised to be eventful, and I fell asleep trying to decide how to sneak some pumpkin pie back to Dr. Whitlock.

* * *

_A/N: Now Esme and Carlisle are in on the action; I know Edward is still AWOL, but I promise, he's coming soon!_

_Thank you so much for all your encouraging reviews and favorites! I'm totally blown away by the number of story alerts for Voices. _

_I've started a thread over on the Twilighted Forums too; come and discuss the characters, read some more teasers, and ask questions -- or join the We-Want-Edward-Now Brigade! It's fun, and I don't bite, I swear. The link is on my profile page._

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	9. GIVING THANKS

CHAPTER EIGHT

GIVING THANKS

Despite my concerns, I managed to pick my way through the colossal house and downstairs the next morning.

When I'd first awoken, I had been disoriented, surrounded by unfamiliar red sheets, but one sleepy glance around the room had reminded me where I was: Alice had brought me to her parents' house, I'd met Dr. and Mrs. Cullen, eaten too much dinner, and gotten royally creamed at Guitar Hero.

It was already well past ten o'clock. I never slept so late at home; I didn't even know I was capable of it. I felt more refreshed and rested than I had in months. There was just something about this place . . .

Walking slowly down the stairs, I tugged at my clothes, trying to smooth away stray wrinkles. Fussing over my appearance wasn't something I indulged in much, but here in this lovely house, it felt almost disrespectful to wear my usual jeans and a t-shirt. I had chosen a casual pair of dress pants and the pretty blue sweater I'd bought while shopping with Alice and spent a few extra minutes on my wild hair before heading downstairs.

"Good morning, Bella," Esme said as I peeked into the kitchen. "Alice and the boys are out picking up the turkey, but they should be back soon." She was surrounded by dozens of steaming dishes and pans, and the entire room smelled of white gravy and cinnamon.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"No thank you, dear, but I wouldn't mind some company."

And so I sat on one of the high stools on the breakfast bar while Esme fluttered around the kitchen, setting pots to boil and getting all the ingredients ready. She worked with calm efficiency, and I remembered the utter chaos in the kitchen the few times Renee had attempted to cook holiday dinners. She'd made a mess but always had fun in the process.

While she worked, she talked, and I found myself listening intently. Esme was such an accessible person that I didn't feel at all awkward, considering that I was sitting in a relative stranger's kitchen.

She talked mainly about her family, but she was happy to share about her own life too; she had been raised in Wisconsin, an only child like me, and intended to go into education because she loved children so much. That resolution had been overshadowed by her preference for design and an early marriage.

"Carlisle and I met when we were very young." She paused to measure out a handful of oatmeal. "He was still in college, and I was a junior in high school. He knew he wanted to be a doctor even then, and he was doing errands and the like for the local clinic in Ashland." She grinned. "I broke my leg falling out of a tree, and I first saw Carlisle when my father took me to the clinic to have it set."

"Love at first sight?"

She nodded; there was such tenderness in her expression that I couldn't help but smile. I liked to think that I was a practical person, but I suppose there was still something of the romantic in me.

"We were married as soon as I graduated, and he gave me a good home and an armful of beautiful babies. It was all I could have asked for."

"No regrets," I said wistfully.

Her face clouded over; she looked down at the dish of Hollandaise sauce she was stirring. "I wouldn't say that." She shook her head, as if to clear it. "When you get older, you tend to reflect on things. Silly things. Oh! I can't believe I've forgotten – Bella, would you like some breakfast? You must starving."

I toasted a bagel and accepted a glass of hand-squeezed orange juice after she insisted, and I sat at the bar to eat and keep myself out of her way. The last thing I wanted to do was throw off her entire cooking schedule; it was clear that she had done this dozens of times before, because every step was carried out with expert precision.

I finished my breakfast, and after learning that I loved to read, Esme sent me upstairs to visit her husband's office, which doubled as the family's library. I felt a little shy about intruding on his personal space, but she assured me that he wouldn't mind.

Dr. Cullen's study, located just across from Alice's room, was enormous, covered wall-to-wall with books. A large window opened out to the back field, and his desk was stark and orderly, with a shiny silver laptop sitting atop it. I examined the shelves closest to me, already overwhelmed. They contained everything from thick medical treatises to novels to history textbooks to trashy romances that undoubtedly belonged to Alice. I roamed the room for a long while, unable to decide what to read first. Dr. Cullen owned more books than the tiny library in Forks did.

I finally found a mystery novel that looked promising and I left the office, intending to read in the living room and wait for the rest of the family to come home. As soon as I shut the study door behind me, however, I heard it.

Someone was playing the piano.

I lingered, eager to listen to Esme play. I hadn't noticed a piano anywhere downstairs and no one had admitted to any musical talent, but it really shouldn't have surprised me; I doubted there was anything the Cullens couldn't do.

As I neared the landing, it occurred to me that the music was coming from the opposite direction: the third-floor staircase. I turned around and stared at the steps down the hall. How strange. I hadn't heard Esme pass the office door, but she must have gone upstairs while I was distracted by the books.

The music continued without interruption, lilting and hypnotic. The song was slow, tender, and I felt a tug in my chest; it drew me toward the staircase before I was aware that I was moving again. I could almost taste the passion of the musician's playing – every note was released with exquisite artistry. I set my foot on the first step.

"Bella?"

I jumped, the spell of the music fading away, and turned to see Esme coming up the first staircase, looking at me with anxious eyes. "Esme?" I said weakly. I looked back up the stairs – the music was still curling down to where I stood. "I thought you were playing the piano. . . "

"I've been in the kitchen, dear. Why don't you come back down and help me with dessert? I'm just mixing up the pie batter."

"The piano — " The song had melted flawlessly into another, a faster, more energetic one that buzzed through the tense air.

"Alice must have left her CD player on. We've been renovating the third floor, you know, and she put it up there while we were painting earlier. It's really a mess; we'd prefer to keep it closed up until it's done. Not something we'd want guests to see, I'm afraid. Go ahead and go on to the kitchen, Bella. I'll shut off the stereo and come back in a minute."

I went quietly, worried that she suspected me of snooping. Esme vanished up the stairs, and a moment later the music drifted away. She joined me back in the kitchen, all smiles.

"I'll have to remind Alice not to leave her stereo on," she told me. "She'll drain all the batteries. She's just like her brother, always leaving things scattered around."

I looked around the room. "Where's the batter?"

"Excuse me, dear?"

"The pie batter. I'm ready to mix it for you if you want."

She looked rattled. "I've already put them in the oven, dear. I must have spoken wrong . . . Yes . . . I needed the salad tossed." She pushed a bowl of iceberg salad toward me. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all." I split the leaves, watching her surreptitiously; her hands were unsteady as she peeled a bowl of carrots.

I finished the salad and tried to read the novel quietly while she finished up. It was impossible to concentrate on the words, however, and eventually I gave up. Strains of delicate piano music were still swirling in my head, though there was no noise in the kitchen except Esme's upbeat humming. I would have to ask Alice which CD it was – I wanted a copy of my own.

* * *

Alice, Emmett, and Dr. Cullen arrived about an hour later, bearing the Thanksgiving turkey, which was thankfully already divested of its head and feathers. Esme basted and put it in the oven right away, seemingly not concerned about it cooking in time for the rest of the meal. Either she had super turkey-cooking skills, or her oven was nuclear-powered.

I sat with the others in the living room, watching the game on the Cullens' new flat-screen TV. Emmett was decked out in his old uniform, surrounded by bowls of popcorn and mixed nuts, with a beer in one hand and a pennant in the other. He took his football games, even those on television, very seriously. Dr. Cullen sat behind him on the couch, with Alice snuggled up against her father's side while she read some fashion magazine.

Having little interest in the game itself, I decided to step outside and give Charlie a call. He must not have been at a meeting, because he answered after the first ring.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Dad. How's the conference going?"

"Not bad. How are the Coles treating you?"

"The Cullens. They're really nice, very friendly. Esme and Dr. Cullen have been especially gracious. It's good to spend time with Alice and Emmett too."

I could almost _hear_ Charlie scowling. "Emmett. That big guy, the one that fixed your truck? He's there too?"

I'd been out of the house officially for almost five years, and Charlie was still as protective as ever. "He has a girlfriend. There's nothing like _that_ going on. We're just friends. He's like an older brother to me."

He made a sound of disbelief. "You still got that pepper spray?"

I sighed. "Dad . . . "

"Just a precaution."

"Do you have any more meetings or are you done?" I asked, ready to change the subject.

"One more, something about how to monitor bank fraud and investment scams." He scoffed. "As if I need to know that."

Forks wasn't a breeding ground for high-crime. "Well, at least it might be interesting to hear about. How is Billy doing?"

"Rebecca and her husband made it over to stay with him for the weekend." There was a relieved note in Charlie's voice. "He was pretty excited to see her again. It's been almost a year."

"That's wonderful." Out of both of Jacob's sisters, I liked Rebecca best. She had been free-spirited, the wild card of the Black family and Jake's favorite. Rachel, however, always resented my presence in his life and blamed me for not looking after him better, particularly when he had shown an interest in dating. "Maybe I'll pop over and see her before she leaves."

"I'm sure she'd like that." He cleared his throat. "Well, I'm probably keeping you away from your friends. Have fun, Bells, and keep that spray handy."

When I went back inside, Dr. Cullen and Esme were gone. Alice beckoned me over the couch, handed me a can of soda, and pointed to a glossy page splashed with a montage of shoes. "What do you think, Bella? I like the blue heels, but I have a lavender dress that would match these."

"Women and their shoes," Emmett griped. "Geez, give it a rest for one day, short stuff."

"_I'm_ not the obsessive slobbering over the TV right now," Alice shot back.

He laughed and slung a pillow at her. "You're just jealous that you don't have a rockin' football jersey too."

"I wouldn't wear that if you paid me – with shoes! It smells like old gym socks. Haven't you washed it since high school?"

"Sure it smells," he said proudly. "The smell of gym socks is a real man's cologne."

I snorted, but Alice didn't seem to think it was funny. "Just you wait. I'll hose it down with Elizabeth Taylor's _Diamonds_, and we'll see how manly it is then." She bent over to whisper in my ear. "He babies his football gear about as much as Dad pampers his hair."

I choked on a sip of Coke.

"Uh-oh, guess who's making fun of Daddy?" Emmett taunted, his words muffled around a bite of popcorn. "I'll tell on you!"

She stuck out her tongue.

"Actually, it _is_ interesting that neither of you were blond," I said, after I caught my breath and could form a coherent sentence.

Alice laughed. "Don't tell a soul," she whispered, leaning close, "but Dad dyes it. He's naturally dark like Em and me, but he thinks going blond makes him look younger. It drives Mom nuts, but we're all so used to it now that he would look really weird with brown hair."

As the afternoon faded into evening, Dr. Cullen and Esme finally returned to the living room. "It looks like dinner is ready, so get to the table," Dr. Cullen announced.

I expected Emmett to leap to his feet, since he'd been whining about his growling stomach for the past hour, but his eyes were glued on his parents with a look of astonishment.

"Bella, why don't we wash up?" Alice suggested, wrapping one of her hands around my arm. "We'll be down to help in a minute, Mom."

Once we were upstairs, Alice picked out an outfit for me, shaking her head over my small collection of formal clothing. "We really do need to update your wardrobe," she told me. "Maybe when the Christmas specials are on."

I didn't make any promises, but I was grateful for her help in finding something suitable to wear for tonight, and as soon as she had gotten herself ready, we went back downstairs.

The instant we walked into the dining room, I felt the change in the atmosphere. It couldn't have been more obvious if someone had written 'trouble' on everyone's foreheads. The tension was overwhelming, suffocating.

"Come and sit down," Esme said. The dishes had already been set out on the long table, and we gathered around it in silence. I was uneasy, darting a look over at Alice, who was steadfastly staring down at her plate.

Dr. Cullen cleared his throat and folded his hands. "Shall we?"

Everyone bowed their heads. Dr. Cullen said a brief prayer, thanking God for a successful year, a loving family, and good friends. Alice went next, offering her gratitude for her new job. Esme took a moment to consider. "I'm grateful for my home and my family, for my . . . children. I hope — " She paused. "I hope that the next year will be as bright – brighter – than this one."

"Emmett?" Dr. Cullen prompted.

He was silent for so long that I wondered if he would answer. "I'm grateful for a loving, supportive family." At those words, he lifted his head and looked his father directly in the eye, barely-concealed anger heating his cheeks. "I'm grateful for a family that always does what's best for me, no matter how hard it is, and would never just give up when things are bad . . . "

"_Enough_." Dr. Cullen's voice cut sharply into the prayer.

Esme turned to me, forcing herself to smile. "Bella, why don't you go?"

"Hmm? Oh, of course. Sure." I bent my head. "I'm grateful for new friends and hospitality." My mind drew a blank, and I unfolded my hands. "Amen."

"Thank you, Bella. Now, who's hungry?"

My plate was piled with all sorts of delectable things – Esme had truly outdone herself – but they were tasteless. I had rarely been so uncomfortable. Maybe I was just a sensitive person, but my moods tended to be affected by those of the people around me, and the atmosphere in the Cullen house was not particularly pleasant at the moment.

Esme kept up a running monologue about the food, the house, and her latest clients. Like Alice, she talked when she was nervous. Her daughter helped out, adding to the conversation when she could, and I dropped in with the occasional comment. All three of us were making a concerted effort to ignore the raw tension emanating from the other side of table where Dr. Cullen and Emmett sat.

"So, Bella, your mother lives in Phoenix?" Esme asked me politely, as she ladled some more gravy onto my plate. "What does she do?"

"She's an elementary school teacher." The job fit Renee perfectly; the kids loved her. "She and Phil – my stepfather – will probably move to Florida this upcoming year. Phil was signed on to a minor league team, so he's hoping to get an edge in Jacksonville."

"That's quite a distance for you to travel," she said sympathetically.

"Well, we don't get to see each other more than once a year as it is."

"Lucky you," Emmett muttered.

Dr. Cullen stiffened in his seat, fingers biting into the tablecloth.

"Well, I'm sure you keep in touch," Esme said calmly, pretending that she hadn't heard anything. "The wonders of technology."

"Yeah. We call each other about every week. She'll like Florida, I think."

It was a pure relief when Esme served dessert. I only ate a few bites of pumpkin pie before setting it aside. Undoubtedly it was excellent, but my stomach was churning, and I really didn't want to ralph on the Cullens' lacquered table, although that might actually break the unbearable tension. I didn't have a good track record with keeping my anxiety under wraps – sitting there at the table, I had a horrible flashback to eighth grade, when I'd fainted at the regional spelling bee.

Alice poked me in the side. "Hey, Bella, are you okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine."

"More pie?" Esme asked.

I almost groaned. "No thanks."

After everyone was done, Alice and I cleared the dishes from the table. I was just happy to have something to occupy myself with. A thank-you to Esme for the lovely meal made her look of fixed calm melt into something more genuine, which was a relief. Frowning looked unnatural on her face.

While Esme was wiping down the table in the dining room, I joined Alice at the sink. She rinsed the dishes and I loaded them into the dish washer. When Alice was about halfway through the clutter of pots and pans, she looked up at me with reddened eyes. "Damn. Bella, my contacts keep bothering me. I'm going to go wash them off, and then I'll be right back."

"Sure."

As soon as she was gone, I took over her post at the sink, scraping the plates over the garbage disposal. As I leaned over the counter, arm deep in soapy water, I heard someone approaching the kitchen, and a moment later, I recognized two voices: Emmett and Dr. Cullen. I turned back to the cup in my hand, trying to ignore them, but it was impossible not to hear.

". . . don't understand how you could do this." Emmett's voice was hushed but laced with the anger that I had seen earlier on his face. "It's Thanksgiving, for God's sake. Why couldn't you bend the rules this once?"

"You know perfectly well why. Our guest shouldn't have to be concerned with that; we have a responsibility as hosts."

"That's bullshit and you know it! She's a fricking _psychiatrist_!"

"Language, Emmett. This discussion is over, and you are not to bring it up again."

I jerked my head back to the dishes as Dr. Cullen walked through the door. He tensed momentarily when he saw me by the sink. "Bella, you don't have to do the dishes. You're our guest and you shouldn't have to do the housework. Esme won't stand for it, and neither will I. Go and have fun with Alice; I'll finish up in here."

I mumbled something and scurried out, glancing over my shoulder to see Emmett still standing in the hall where his father had left him, his face bright red and his mouth screwed into a furious line. I shivered and hurried into the living room.

When Alice came back downstairs, I explained that her father was finishing the dishes. Conveniently, I left out the part about overhearing a heated argument in the process. Being caught snooping twice in one day was quite enough for me.

She sighed, looking very tired. "Hey, do you want to watch a movie upstairs or something?"

I followed her up the stairs, and we stretched out on her bed and watched _The Princess Bride_. Alice knew all the lines and spoke along with the actors, and we spent twenty minutes debating the relative merits of Westley and Mr. Darcy – I couldn't believe Alice could prefer the farm-boy to _Mr. Darcy_, but there was no accounting for other people's tastes. The movie cheered both of us up, and when we parted ways for bed, that awful strain in the air was gone.

Before I got to my room, though, Alice poked her head out her door. "Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be like this."

"It's okay, Alice. I'm still glad I came."

She flashed me a smile and disappeared into her room.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for all your reviews and favorites! A big shout out to SR Devaste for being a great critique partner. _

_You know the drill, guys -- you'll like the teaser this week! _

_

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	10. PHOTOGRAPHS

CHAPTER NINE

PHOTOGRAPHS

Rosie's Garage had always done a reasonable amount of business. The work was fairly priced, and of course the guys always appreciated getting an eyeful of Rosie herself. It wasn't all that unexpected, then, when the shop won its own place of recognition in the world of auto mechanics.

An article written by a recent customer – who was researching the garages around the city for an editorial on mechanical labor and oil prices' impact on the automobile industry for The Seattle Times – had been put in the latest edition, and Rosie's was given an honorable mention. That little notice led to a bigger article, and that steamrolled into an interview for the final editorial.

The publicity was fabulous, and Rosalie introduced special discounts on brake pads, transmission jobs, and oil changes; a good number of new customers flocked to the garage. The crew had hopes that some of them would become regulars. Rosie's would never reach the level of the chain-garages in the area, but every transaction helped.

To celebrate their success, Emmett insisted on taking Rosalie out for a nice dinner and a night of dancing; Alice and I, as well as all the guys at Rosie's, were invited to tag along. It had been a while since we'd all gotten together, so I was excited at the prospect of a dinner out, though I was less enthusiastic about the club. I hadn't seen Emmett since the disastrous Thanksgiving dinner, and to be honest, I was a little worried.

I couldn't stop thinking of the way Emmett had looked when his father left him in the hall; I didn't know the circumstances or substance of their argument – and quite frankly I wasn't sure that I wanted to know – but he was a friend, and I hoped that everything was alright. Alice hadn't said a word about that evening either; we'd left the Cullens' house early the next morning and never talked about what had happened. Still, this wasn't the time to worry; I was determined to unwind and have some fun.

By the time Alice and I arrived at the club, everyone had already gathered in the back room except Em and Rose. Sam Uley was lounging over by the bar, and Alice elbowed me when she caught me looking at him.

"Why don't you go over and keep him company?" she whispered, jamming her fist into my shoulder. "I think he'd enjoy that."

"Stop it. I never should have told you anything." Somehow over the course of the drive, Alice had weaseled the story of Sam's phone number exchange, and she hadn't stopped mentioning it since. It was impossible to tell Alice anything without her making a production of it.

"If you won't take these opportunities yourself, then I'll take them for you." Waving her arm in the air, she hollered, "Hi, Sam!"

I cringed back behind her as a few people turned to stare at us. For someone so tiny, Alice had some amazing lung power. Sam grinned and set his half-finished glass on the counter before walking over to join us.

"How are you ladies tonight?"

"Fabulous," Alice chirped. "I think Bella looks awfully pretty tonight. Here, why don't you stay with Bella while I go find some seats for us?"

Sam and I watched as Alice scurried into the room, humming as she went.

"Wow. She's a bit obvious."

I chuckled nervously. "That's Alice. Let's go in before she takes this to the next level."

"So, how've you been?" Sam asked, as we settled down at one of the tables.

"Pretty good." Good wasn't perhaps the most accurate assessment; I'd just had a call from Charlie informing me that we would be having Sue Clearwater and her daughter over for Christmas. I didn't object so Sue so much as I objected to Leah; the last time I'd seen her, which had been in grade school, she'd thrown a handful of mud in my face. Not a nice kid.

"Paul and I went down to visit the folks last week." He fiddled with a napkin, tearing it into strips. "I haven't told Rosalie yet, but I don't think I'll be staying in Seattle much longer."

"Really?"

"Yeah. My dad's starting to get Alzheimer's, and Mom has too many health problems to take care of him by herself. Paul can't stay with them – work ties him down here – but I can find a job anywhere."

"I'm so sorry to hear that." I knew what that felt like. Grandma Marie had regressed into severe dementia in her later years, and it had been so difficult to see my lively, clever grandmother turn into someone who could hardly remember my name on her bad days.

"Well, there's always something that has to happen." He sighed. "Anyway, we're trying to keep positive about it, and we put Dad on Aricept."

"That's all you can do. Will you mind moving back?"

"Not too much. Seattle is a little busy for me, if you know what I mean."

We sat and talked, watching the other partygoers mingling and picking through the appetizers while we waited for our guest of honor. Alice had already chosen the object of the evening's flirtation, a handsome friend of Sam's named Quil.

We watched Alice approach her target, who looked a little confused at the unsolicited attention. The girl didn't have a subtle bone in her body.

"You'd better call your friend off," Sam commented.

"Why?"

"I don't think Claire would appreciate that."

"Who's Claire?"

He grinned. "His wife."

Oh, my. "Excuse me for a second, will you?" Without waiting for an answer, I made a beeline for Alice, and the perfect distraction arrived in the form of Rose and Emmett, who had just walked through the door.

I bent down and tapped her head, whispering, "Alice, your brother and Rosalie are here. We've got to go congratulate them."

She was not happy with my interruption, though Quil looked somewhat relieved.

"Let's go. They're right there." I tugged on her arm until she got up and followed me.

"What was that about?" she demanded, once we'd turned the corner.

"He's married."

I expected some irreverent quip about how he wasn't wearing a wedding ring, but instead Alice sank into a nearby booth, covering her face with her hands. She was quiet for a long while. Tentatively I sat next to her, not knowing what to say.

"There's something wrong with me, isn't there?"

"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously.

"I know there is. You can be honest." Before I could answer, she groaned. "You know what? Never mind. I came here to have a good time. Let's go." Grabbing my hand, she dragged me off the booth; I went with her, still spinning from her abrupt mood swing.

After a few aimless circles around the room, Alice parked herself at the bar to flirt with the bartender. I left her there and wandered back to the center table, where Emmett and Rose were sitting . . . and arguing.

"Bella, come here and tell Rosie she's being unreasonable," Emmett begged.

"He stole his father's car," Rosalie interrupted, jabbing a pink-nailed finger into his side.

"What?"

Apparently Emmett had picked up Rose in his father's beautiful new Mercedes, which he had borrowed so she could ride in style. Perhaps 'borrowed' was the wrong term, since Dr. Cullen had no idea that Emmett had taken out his car for the evening.

"He wasn't going anywhere," Emmett protested. "Besides, he couldn't have gone anywhere anyway." He pulled a black leather wallet from his coat.

"You took his wallet too?" I gasped.

"If he can't find his license, he can't drive, and if he can't drive, he shouldn't be mad at me for taking a car that he couldn't legally use anyway."

"Your logic is absolutely twisted."

"Aw, c'mon, Rosie. I know you like the Mercedes. It's only for one night."

"Fine," she said. "If your dad kills you, let the record show that I thought it was a bad idea from the start."

"That's my girl!" He smacked a kiss on her and got up from the table. "Felix! What say we go tell the deejay to liven this place up a little? Rosie and I need to dance."

Oh, joy. Dancing.

As if summoned by the gods of cruel irony, Sam appeared at my shoulder. "Bella, d'you want to dance or something?"

I'd refused that offer more times in my life than I could count. It wasn't that I actually hated dancing; it was just that I didn't know how. I never learned which way to move or whether I was shaking my hips too much or too little, or whether I looked stupid trying to get into the music. I never really knew what to do with my arms either.

"It'll be fun," he added hopefully. "I haven't danced in a long time."

I'd been fully prepared to say no, but when I looked at him, I saw Jacob. It could have been the low lights or weariness, or maybe I was simply feeling vulnerable tonight, but whatever the reason, I couldn't refuse. I had never been able to refuse Jake anything. Well, almost anything.

"Sure."

"Really?" He sounded surprised. Maybe I wasn't as discreet as I thought I was.

"Yes, really," I said, accepting his hand. We walked out onto the tiny floor, wriggling through the mob of dancers. Emmett and Felix had gotten to the deejay, and a new song – loud, pulsating, with a primal beat that was impossible not to move to – was trumpeting from the speakers.

My burst of confidence didn't result in instant coordination, but I made a delightful discovery: Sam couldn't dance to save his life.

We hopped and gyrated awkwardly together, laughing when we bumped heads or stepped on a few toes. I knew we looked ridiculous, but this time it didn't matter to me – we were both ridiculous. The two of us danced through at least six songs, and by the time we wandered off the floor, I was sweaty and needing to sit down, and my makeup had probably melted off my face.

I looked around for Alice to brag about my success, but she wasn't at the bar. After a few minutes of searching, I found her face-down on Emmett's table, flanked on either side by empty margarita glasses.

"Alice!" I shook her shoulder, and she lifted her head to blink at me blearily.

"Wassit?"

"Are you okay?"

"S'okay." With that, she laid her head on the tabletop and went back to sleep.

Not wanting to leave her alone, I pulled up a chair, using her jacket as a makeshift pillow. She definitely wouldn't want to wake up with the tablecloth pattern imprinted on her cheek.

Dr. Cullen's wallet was open, lying next to her hand; a small collection of laminated photographs were arranged opposite his driver's license. Intrigued, I picked it up to look at the pictures.

There was a stunning studio portrait of Esme in front. It looked fairly recent, judging by the faint strands of silver in her hair. Next was Alice, who was posing triumphantly outside the door of her new office, and then Emmett in a blue-and-gold football uniform. A few other pictures followed it, older ones with two adorable kids. I laughed to see the photo of Alice wearing a sparkly Barbie shirt with her hair up in pigtails.

An empty plastic sleeve marked the end of the little montage, but as I was about to close the wallet, I noticed that there was one more photo on the other side, tucked in hastily and dog-eared on one side, as though it had been frequently pulled out.

I flipped it over curiously. It was an old family scene showcasing a much younger Esme and Carlisle and their children; Emmett couldn't have been older than ten and Alice was missing her two front teeth. What drew my attention, however, was the other child in the picture, sitting on Dr. Cullen's lap: a beautiful boy with reddish-brown hair and a big smile. I peered more closely at the faded photograph, and I could see that his eyes were green like Alice's . . . like Esme's.

"Bella!" I felt a hand yanking on my arm, half-lifting me out of my chair. "I saw you out there getting your freak on with Sam!"

I felt myself blushing – Emmett's voice carried halfway through the room.

"Shut it," Rosalie said, smacking his head. Her eyes fell on the sleeping Alice and she groaned. "Em, your sister's out again."

His grin faltered. Coming around the table, he crouched down to look at her face. "She's just sleeping. Bella, did she drink all of these herself?" He pointed at the mismatched collection of glasses.

"I don't know. I'm sorry, I wasn't watching."

Emmett stood up. "I'll go get her some water."

When he was out of earshot, I turned to Rosalie, who was watching Alice drool on her coat with a look of revulsion.

"Does Alice . . . does she do this a lot? Drink, I mean."

"Come out and say it, Bella. You mean, is she an alcoholic?"

Even the word made me wince. "I suppose so. Is she?"

"I don't think so, not yet. She doesn't drink anything but wine at home, and I've only seen her stone-drunk when we're out somewhere," Rosalie said.

Just because she drank sparingly at home didn't mean Alice was okay. "Does she drink everyday? Is it only in social situations?"

"God, how should I know?" Rose was irritated. "I don't keep tabs on the little twit. She can do whatever the hell she wants with her life, and if what she wants is to drink it away, then that's not my problem."

"That was really cold."

She groaned. "Don't you dare try to make me feel guilty! Look, Bella, she's been like this for the two years I've known her. She gets toasted, and we usually end up taking her back home to sleep it off. It hasn't affected her work, so don't worry so much. She's fine."

"It isn't right," I argued. "She needs help."

"Then help her, or find someone else to do the job."

I glared at her, and she lifted her hands in mock surrender. "No way. I have enough of my own shit to deal with. The last thing I need is a year of cleaning up after Miss Sweet-and-Snockered."

"Rosalie . . . "

"The day I babysit the Princess is the day you grow a pair."

"Here's the water." Emmett set the Styrofoam cup on the table, anxious lines creasing his forehead. "Short stuff, get up."

It took several attempts, but finally Alice was awake enough to take a few sips of cold water.

"It looks like our evening is over," Rosalie muttered. "Come on, Em. We'd better take her home."

"I can take her," I said impulsively. "She can sleep at my place for the night."

"Are you sure?" Emmett asked. Rosalie shot me a grateful look from over his shoulder.

"I'm sure. You guys stay and celebrate."

Emmett helped wrestle Alice out to the Porsche, and after I buckled her in the passenger seat, I got behind the wheel. It was nerve-wracking to drive something so expensive, but Rosalie gave me a few quick pointers and sent me on my way. I took the shortest route possible, since the last thing I wanted was for Alice to start throwing up in the car.

Only when we pulled up in front of my building did I realize that I hadn't even said goodbye to Sam.

"Alice, we're here."

She mumbled something under her breath. When I tried to get her to walk on her own her legs collapsed under her, so I slung her arm over my shoulder and pulled her up the stairs. We barely made it in the door before she began clutching her stomach and moaning; we made it to the bathroom just in time.

I spent half an hour sitting with Alice in front of the toilet. She vomited and cried and dozed off in turn, and I hovered nearby anxiously, not sure what to do to make her more comfortable. She was too incoherent to tell me, and I didn't have much experience with heavy drinkers.

After her stomach was mercifully empty, I helped her change into a pair of my too-big pajamas and got her onto the bed. I went out and fixed up some pillows and blankets on the couch for Seth and I, but I didn't lay down for another hour, doing crossword puzzles to keep myself awake in case Alice needed me.

As the hours slipped by and the light faded, the words on the page began to blur. I took off my glasses and blinked. Odd. I knew I was looking at the crossword booklet, but all I could see was a little boy with green eyes.

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_A/N: The response last chapter was wonderful -- thanks for all your reviews and favorites, and thanks to SR Devaste!  
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_The teaser this week is a biggie! _

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	11. GHOSTS

CHAPTER TEN

GHOSTS

When I woke the next morning, it was to the lingering memory of an odd dream – and the delicious smell of hot pancakes. Stumbling off the couch, I wandered into the kitchen to find Alice at the stove, pouring batter onto a frying pan. She turned around to smile at me; her face was pasty and pinched, and dark rings circled her eyes.

"Good morning, Bella," she said, sounding congested. "I hope you like pancakes and eggs."

"I do, but you didn't have to make breakfast."

"I wanted to." She flipped one of the cakes. "I wanted to do something to thank you for last night. You shouldn't have had to cart me around like that. My behavior was awful, and I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," I said softly, "but I _am_ worried about you. So is Emmett."

She dipped her head down, staring at the pan. "I know."

I took a fortifying breath. "Have you ever gone to anyone before? For help?"

"It's not a big deal, Bella. Really, it isn't. I know I drink too much sometimes, but doesn't everyone? Sometimes I just get depressed."

"How often do you get depressed?" I prodded.

"I appreciate your concern and everything, but please don't do this. Not now. I've heard it all before, and I'm not your patient."

"I'm sorry, Alice. I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

A weak flash of a smile was her only reply.

I scrambled a batch of eggs, and we sat down at the table to eat breakfast. Seth planted himself by Alice's chair, and it didn't take long to figure out why: pieces of pancake kept disappearing from her plate and reappearing underneath the table.

"You know, he's going to get spoiled rotten if you feed him every time you come over," I laughed.

She jumped, peeping over at me guiltily. "Sorry. I always wanted a dog, but we were never allowed to have pets at home."

"Never?"

"Never. Dogs didn't fit in with Mom's Persian silks and wood-grain floors."

"I guess they wouldn't." Charlie had always had some sort of animal prowling around the house, usually neighborhood strays. Of course, he didn't like to admit that he kept an impromptu animal shelter, since apparently that didn't fit in with the tough cop persona. Charlie was always a big softie.

"Bella, can I ask for a favor? I was going to mention it last night, but . . . well, obviously I didn't get around to it."

"Sure. What can I do?"

"Mom and Dad always throw this huge extravaganza on Christmas Eve. They've done it every year, as long as I can remember. Dad invites his co-workers, and Mom's club friends and their families always come. It's a big production." Her tired face perked up a little at the thought. "Anyway, I help with the decorating, but it's a huge job, and our caterer is unavailable this year, so there will be lots of extra things to do."

"Can I help?"

"Would you mind?" she asked hopefully. "It's a little bit overwhelming, and I could really use someone to lend a hand. It should only take an afternoon – maybe the day before Christmas Eve? – and of course we'd want you to come to the party too. What do you say?"

"I'd be happy to help. Dr. Whitlock shut down the office for the holidays, and I don't have to be at Charlie's until Christmas Day. We never eat until late afternoon, so I have plenty of time."

"Thanks. I had no idea how I was going to get everything done on time. You're a lifesaver."

The party was still two weeks away, but Alice was a firm believer in not procrastinating; she wanted to get started as soon as breakfast was finished. I didn't mind shopping, and the excursion had the added bonus of allowing me to keep an eye on Alice, at least for the rest of the day. She didn't seem to be suffering from much of a hangover, though she was still very pale and she insisted on wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. In a grudging concession she did let me drive, since her head still felt a little woozy.

We went to her usual supply haunts, picking up mountains of streamers and tinsel and holly, along with more plates and utensils than I could count, all of the highest quality. I hadn't expected her to shop at a paper warehouse, but honestly, the amount of money that rang up at each register stunned me. The Cullens certainly didn't do things halfway.

"How many people are you expecting?" I asked, watching Alice stack champagne flutes onto the sales counter.

"Anywhere from seventy-five to a hundred and fifty," she said breezily. "It varies on the year."

A hundred and fifty guests? "How can you _do_ that?" I had a hard enough time planning dinner parties for _five_ people.

"Buy everything in bulk, and make sure enough rooms are opened." She started pulling packages of foil-wrapped party crackers out of the cart, and I walked over to help. "Mom and Dad have done this ever since Em was a baby. It's a good way to get to know our neighbors and make connections. It was really hard, though, when I was little; I'd spend all week helping Mom make the house look beautiful, and then on Christmas Eve we kids would have to stay upstairs."

I froze, armfuls of ribbon streamers suspended stupidly in mid-air. "They didn't let you join the party?"

"Nope. We would have gotten in the way. It was okay, though – we always got some of the food _and_ we were allowed to stay up late and watch movies. That was good enough for us." She laughed, but the sound had a dreamy quality to it, as if she wasn't quite with me anymore. "Sometimes Edward and I would sneak out and watch the grownups from behind the banister. I'm pretty sure Mom knew we were there, but she let us have our fun anyway."

Edward?I stifled an immature giggle. Poor Alice _was_ tired if she couldn't remember her own brother's name.

"Your total, Miss Cullen," the saleslady announced, indicating the flashing digits on the computer screen.

Alice shot a grin at me as she forked over her card. An attendant piled the wrapped bags into our cart, and as I drew up next to the register, the saleswoman – whose clothes were a hundred times nicer than mine – gave me a dismissive once-over before shifting to face Alice.

Hmph. It looked like somebody had a superiority complex.

"I saw you giving the clerk the evil eye," Alice whispered as we wheeled her loot out to the Porsche. "What did she do?"

_She looked at me funny_. Even in my thoughts it sounded childish. "Nothing. Alice, doesn't it ever bother you?"

"What?"

I reached past her and piled a few cases of sparkling white wine into the trunk, giving myself time to phrase this right. "Being so well off."

"Having more money than I know what to do with, you mean?"

"Not really. More like . . . " I bit my lip, unable to put my thoughts into something tangible. "Have you ever wished you were treated differently? By people in the stores, and other places. Have you ever felt like you've been, you know, taken advantage of because of how you live?"

She chuckled. "In other words, you want to know if it bothers me to be fawned over."

"I suppose so, yes." Popping the trunk shut, I crawled into the driver's seat and waited for Alice to get in before starting the car.

"Sometimes." There was a small, thoughtful silence before she continued. "I always knew we were rich, different from other kids. It was kind of hard not to notice, what with all the nice things we had. I used to think everybody had their own playroom and a pool out back, and it took me a long time to realize that wasn't true. Sure, I was spoiled. All of us were. And yes, sometimes the constant bowing and courting does get old. But whether I wish I wasn't well off . . . ." She trailed away and looked out the window; I kept quiet, letting her gather her thoughts.

"I've never felt guilty for having things when other people didn't," she said at last. "My parents worked hard to earn their money, and we give to charity, do our part in the community." She paused. "Actually, I guess the biggest percentage of our stuff did come from Dad's parents. They were uber-rich, and Dad was an only child. Anyway, Emmett and I didn't have to work; we chose to support ourselves. But sometimes, " she hesitated, "sometimes I did wonder what it would be like if we'd been raised differently."

It took much longer to get to the Cullens' place with me in the driver's seat, and when we did pull up in front of the house, the rain had thickened into a soupy sleet that dripped into our hair and down our jackets as we ran for shelter.

Esme held the door open for us as we darted inside, breathless and giggling. "My goodness, I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow. Bella, it's a pleasure to see you again so soon."

"Thanks." I turned around as Dr. Cullen walked into the foyer, a newspaper tucked under his arm. He smiled at me warmly, but in my mind's eye I saw a flash of his face as it had been at Thanksgiving: cold and taut with anger.

"We picked up some things for the party," Alice said. "They're in the trunk, but we can get them out when it stops raining."

Esme laughed. "When it stops raining, it'll be snowing. They're predicting a big storm tonight, with the first snow of the Christmas season." Stepping aside, she peered out the door. "In fact, it looks like it's about to start. You might not make it back to the city tonight, girls."

"I'd prefer if you didn't risk it," Dr. Cullen added. "That Porsche isn't built for this kind of weather. I don't want you to take any chances."

Alice elbowed me. "Well, it looks like we'll be having a sleepover."

"Oh, no," I groaned. "Seth! I can't leave him by himself tonight. He needs to be fed and let out."

"Is there someone you can call?" Dr. Cullen led us into the living room to sit down and dry off.

After a few minutes of consideration, I decided that my next-door neighbor was the best bet. Jessica wasn't exactly a friend, but she could probably be trusted to look after Seth for one night. All she had to do was fill up his bowl, and she could get a key from Mrs. Cope, so it wasn't as if it would be a huge imposition.

Jessica answered, sounding irritated at the interruption, but she agreed to pop over and make sure Seth was okay. Feeling a little better about my unexpected layover, I joined Alice and Esme in the kitchen, where they were tossing a salad for dinner.

I spent a pleasant evening in the Cullens' living room, shoveling down Esme's famous lasagna and toasting my cold feet near the fireplace. Alice was full of plans for the party, her enthusiasm renewed after a good meal and relaxation, and the Cullens backed her schemes indulgently.

It was a pleasure to see Alice happy again, and I wondered whether I'd overreacted before. She could just be going through a rough patch right now. After all, Rosalie wasn't the best judge where Alice was concerned, and it was foolish to assume that something was wrong.

Esme shepherded us off to bed by eleven, a motherly gesture that both touched and amused me; I couldn't ever remember Renee having a set bedtime for me, at least not after I was old enough to put myself to bed. I said my goodnights and settled in the guest room, watching the snow fall outside before crawling under the covers.

I had never been able to sleep well in an unfamiliar bed. After a few restless hours spent counting and re-counting the flowers on the wallpaper, I finally rolled off the mattress and shuffled to the door. It was late, but I was dying of thirst, and for some reason, a tall glass of milk had become the object of my sudden obsession.

Esme had invited me to help myself to anything I needed before I'd gone up to bed, so I didn't feel too guilty wandering downstairs to raid the fridge. The house was dark and silent, and I sneaked past Alice's room on the pads of my toes, trying to be stealthy.

It was an honest-to-God miracle that I made it downstairs without a major disaster, as I could hardly find my way around in broad daylight. Still, that glass of milk was calling to me; I hadn't been feeling too well lately, and nothing said 'comfort' like milk.

I stumbled down the hall to the kitchen. The door was open; I slipped through it and flicked on the light. The abrupt appearance of fluorescent brightness so stunned me that it took several seconds to realize that I wasn't alone.

"_Holy_ _sh—_" I fell back against the counter, hands flying up to shield my face from the blur of movement near the table. A flutter of white fabric – a T-shirt? – zipped by in front of me, and I spun around toward the cabinets, grasping for a makeshift weapon.

The sound of someone's heavy breathing was mingling with my own, and I sucked in a deep breath, preparing for a scream that would shake the rafters as I turned around to confront my attacker.

The kitchen was empty.

Slowly I lowered the ladle clenched in my hand, but my pulse was in overdrive. There had been someone sitting at the table. There had been – I _knew_ there had been. In those few moments of panic, my mind had registered a figure; not features, but a definite shape. And it was most definitely the form of a man, a living person.

Or maybe not _living_.

I rubbed my arms uneasily and backed up against the counter. Superstition had never had a big place in my life, but there was no sense in being a slave to skepticism. There were things in this world that had no scientific explanation. I'd just never counted ghosts as one of those things.

Ghosts were things out of legends and horror stories, not corporeal beings. While the concept of spirits or life forces or whatever you wanted to call them lingering on Earth after physical death seemed reasonable enough, it wasn't something I'd ever believed. It didn't make sense; it didn't have a place in a person's well-ordered and neatly structured life.

Unfortunately, nothing about this made sense.

My mind was running a mile a minute. I knew for a fact that no one else was in this house. Alice would have mentioned another guest. Besides, no normal human being could have disappeared from the room so quickly; the entire incident couldn't have taken more than a minute.

It figured. Somehow I would be the one to barge onto the family ghost's stomping ground. Wasn't I supposed to be terrified at the thought of theoretically sharing a house with the shade of a dead person's soul? I was thoroughly spooked, yes, but not frightened.

That didn't mean, however, that I was thrilled about staying here alone in the kitchen. I sloshed some milk into a cup, intending to hurry back to the safety of the guest room, when my wary gaze landed on the table where the . . . thing . . . had been sitting. Or hovering, or whatever it was that ghosts did.

It turned out that the Cullens' resident spectre hadn't been the only thing out of place in the kitchen. There was something sitting on the table, lying half-eaten on one of Esme's china platters. I wasn't a paranormal expert, but this was a matter of simple logic, and I felt something inside me freeze up.

Ghosts definitely didn't eat sandwiches.

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_A/N: Wow! I was stunned by the response last chapter -- thank you so much! And chocotiger definitely wins the award for completing the most epic reviewing marathon ever! _

_We're finally getting to the hub of the story; Edward will appear at last! _

_Thanks to my amazing critique partner, SR Devaste, who fixed all my stupid mistakes and came up with the title. _

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	12. MIDNIGHT VISITOR

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MIDNIGHT VISITOR

It didn't take too much consideration to decide that telling Alice about my nocturnal adventure probably wasn't the most brilliant idea. In the fresh clarity of the morning, I might have even convinced myself that what I had seen was a mere illusion conjured up by my overactive subconscious.

Yes, that might have seemed reasonable if I hadn't had irrefutable proof of a less than supernatural occurrence. I had seen that sandwich on the table – I knew it was ham and lettuce on rye, for heaven's sake! During breakfast I had even sneaked a surreptitious look in the Cullens' kitchen, and the plate was gone, so Esme had evidently cleaned up. If she saw nothing sinister in randomly-appearing food, then neither should I.

Besides, there really wasn't anything to tell anyone; I could picture the scene: _Hey, Alice, guess what? I went downstairs last night and saw a ghost sitting at your kitchen table! I was going to bean him with a soup ladle, but then he disappeared and left his sandwich behind, so he isn't really a ghost. Funny, huh?_

Yeah, that would go over well. The crazy psychologist was a clichéd concept anyway.

"How did you sleep, Bella?" Esme asked as she collected our empty breakfast plates. The question shook me out of my distraction, and I smiled and handed over my dish. "Not too bad." _Did you know you have a fridge-raiding spirit in your house?_ "How about you? I hope I didn't keep you up with all my clanking around. I think I tripped on the stairs about twenty times."

"You didn't disturb anyone, dear. Just be more careful; we don't want to send you home covered in bruises."

"Bruises or no bruises, I'm still putting you to work today," Alice piped up. "We have tons to do this morning, and we probably won't be done until after supper."

Why exactly did I volunteer to help her again? Oh, that's right – I'm a pushover.

"Have fun, both of you," was all Esme said.

The snow was blowsy and dry enough for us to travel on the highway, and we returned to Seattle as soon as the Porsche was unloaded. Much to my relief, Alice had enough sense not to speed in inclement weather. That thoughtfulness, however, didn't extend to her agenda.

Just as she had threatened, the day was spent trooping around the city to buy a variety of party favors, place settings, and groceries. By the time we were finished, I never wanted to see another faux-pine wreath or candle holder again. Parties were not my forte, and I was amazed that someone as high-key as Alice had the patience to do this as a career.

"Thanks for helping," Alice said, as we lugged the last of the bags into her apartment. "I couldn't have done it without you. Emmett's being a blockhead and isn't coming this year, so it would have been just Mom and me. I appreciate it, really."

"My pleasure."

"You are such a liar," she laughed. "Anyway, you've earned yourself one VIP pass to the Cullen Christmas Eve Extravaganza. Unless, of course, you happen to be bringing a date along?" She nudged me.

"Nope. Not a soul."

"Hmm. I'll have to fix you up then." Grabbing her purse, she led me back out to her car. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

"I don't need a date. Shall I remind you of what happened the last time you set me up? Not that Mike was a jerk or anything. He was actually pretty decent..." I climbed into the car and closed the door just before she pulled away from the curb.

"'Decent' is enough in my book, but I can find you 'orgasmic' if you're going to be picky about it. A lot of Dad's colleagues come, and they usually bring their families along. Dr. Yorkie has a son who's just graduated medical school; he's not half-bad in the looks department either."

"I think I'll pass. Let me get my own life straightened out first, and then I'll think about dating."

Alice's nose wrinkled. "Eew! By the time that happens, you'll be old. It would totally put a crimp in your style if you had to take your walker along with you on a date."

"You are such a twerp, Mary Alice!"

"Yeah, I know. Sometimes you have to be to get ahead." She jerked the wheel sharply to the right, stopping in front of my building. "See you on Friday?"

"Sure."

"Don't pick anything out," she hollered after me. "I've got the perfect outfit for you already, so wait until I drop off some things, okay?"

I waved, and she took off down the snow-crusted road, wheels spinning. With a sigh and a cough, I brushed the slush off my hood and went inside.

* * *

The week seemed endless. Dr. Whitlock's office was closed for the holidays and my classes were done, and I spent my days doing housework and rearranging my closet. I'd caught a cold or something and was dogged with a persistent cough. It was too chilly to go out, so my phone was permanently stuck to my ear as I attempted to ward off boredom by calling everyone in my address book.

Renee and Phil were house-hunting in Florida, and she was glad to tell me all about the beautiful homes they'd toured. She wanted to live right by the beach, but Phil was understandably wary about water damage, preferring the safety of Coral Park, an upscale suburb of Jacksonville. I'd been given a promise of some photos of the new house and emails updating their progress, but I didn't count on ever receiving them. My mother, for all her good intentions, rarely kept her promises.

Charlie had called to bring me up to date on the final arrangements for Christmas dinner. Thankfully, Sue would be cooking this year; the last time Charlie had tried to make a meal, he'd filled the entire kitchen with smoke. He sounded unusually cheerful over the phone, excited about a family get-together. I knew it was important to him that I approved of Sue, even though I was no longer living at home, and he undoubtedly saw this as a prime opportunity for us to get to know each other better. He needn't have worried; I was all for anything that would keep him from becoming too lonely, but I appreciated the thought behind it.

I didn't hear from Alice at all until Friday; she was too busy preparing her parents' house for the big event. To be perfectly honest, I hadn't given much thought to it, beyond choosing one of my more formal outfits – a simple black pantsuit – for the occasion. I knew that Alice had probably dreamed up some elaborate costume for me. She may have decided to become a wedding planner in the end, but the fashion critic was still a prevalent facet of her personality. Still, I wasn't about to let her get into the habit of dictating what I wore.

That resolution was tested days after I made it. Early on Friday, the day of the party, Alice showed up on my doorstep with an armful of bags.

"I found the perfect dress," she announced, breezing past me without preamble, "and I just happened to come across these matching shoes at half-price."

"Alice, I told you not to do this!" I didn't even want to know how much she had spent on this little investment. "It's a nice gesture, really, but I already have something picked out for tonight."

"Show me."

Reluctantly I allowed her entry into my closet. She took one look at my pantsuit and made a sound of pure disgust. "No." Picking up the biggest sack, she carefully unveiled a lovely cap-sleeved evening dress, cut from wine-colored satin. "_This_ is a party dress, Bella. Pantsuits are a big no-no."

I felt a sting of irritation. Couldn't she respect that I didn't want to serve as her personal mannequin? I was twenty-three, for God's sake, and I'd been successfully dressing myself for two decades.

At the same time, the traitorous, fickle, girly part of me was admiring the rich color of the fabric and fantasizing about how soft the satin would feel.

Alice must have sensed that I was wavering. "Look at these." She produced another bag and pulled a shoebox from it. "Red brushed leather with a kitten heel and padded arch. Your feet won't even hurt at the end of the night."

Oh, she was good.

"You know you want to," she taunted, swinging the shoes back and forth in front of my face. "If it makes you feel better, I found all this at Herberger's." She made a face. "I could have gotten something much better, but I know you have your _standards_. The whole caboodle totalled less than one hundred and fifty dollars. And don't make me say that again. It's crass to talk about how much something costs."

My frugal nature was unable to resist a good bargain. "Maybe just for tonight."

Alice was circumspect enough not to gloat, though there was a distinctly smirky curl to her lip. "Here's the dress, the shoes . . . oh, and some hosiery."

"You bought me pantyhose? I'm sorry, but that's creepy."

"Always be prepared," she retorted. "You never wear skirts. I didn't know if you even owned a pair of stockings."

I tossed the pink package at her. "I wore a dress on that date!"

"Only because I told you to. Besides, that thing was hanging untouched in your closet – the tags were still on it."

I coughed. "I'm trying to be professional, that's all."

"Then stop it. Don't be such a spoilsport. I know you love it, so suck it up and profess your undying love for my shopping prowess."

"I do appreciate it, but that doesn't mean I approve of it. Please try to hold off on the Beautify-Bella routine in the future, okay?"

She looked crestfallen. "I just want to help."

"I know." I reached over to give her a hug. "But there's a limit for everything. You let me pick out my own clothes, and in exchange you may accessorize to your heart's content."

"But you'll wear this dress tonight?"

"It would be a shame not to."

She grinned. "Deal. Now let's find you some jewelry."

The party began at seven, and Alice had informed me that she didn't cleave to the practice of being fashionably late. Consequently, I hurried to take a shower, squirm into the red dress, and get to my truck before six o'clock.

The drive was a quiet one; all the snowfall from earlier in the week had melted, for which I was grateful, as my snow chains were in need of replacement. My concern that I might not be able to find the Cullens' house on my own was rendered void by the short line of cars in front of me that led directly to my destination.

I pulled in, my rusty old truck making a tremendous noise as it puttered down the driveway, which was littered with rows of beautiful cars. I parked in between an Aston Martin and a Corvette, amused by the contrast between the sleek black machines and my pile of bolts.

Lights flickered from inside the house, and I could hear strains of 'O Holy Night' carried on the chilly night air. The trees had been strung with holly garlands, giving the yard a festive look. Red and green lanterns were posted on either side of the walkway, lighting a path to the front door.

Smoothing down my skirt, I hurried up the walk, eager to escape from the cold wind – I didn't want to make my case of the sniffles any worse. I lifted the ornate knocker and let it fall; in a few seconds it was answered by a smiling young woman with jingle-bell earrings.

"Hi! Come in." She stepped back to make room for me. "Mrs. Cullen's in the kitchen, and Dr. Cullen is out on the porch."

"Your coat, ma'am?" a uniformed man asked me at almost the same moment. I handed over my jacket, and when I turned back to thank the woman, she'd already blended back into the crowd.

Perhaps 'crowd' was an understatement. Everywhere I looked there were laughing, chatting partygoers, mingling around the foyer. It felt awkward to stand by myself, so I decided to head to the kitchen and say hello to Esme. As I moved through the crowd, my feelings of displacement only intensified.

The guests were decked out in their finest, as if the Cullens were hosting a charity benefit rather than a Christmas party. It seemed almost coordinated: slinky cocktail dresses for the ladies and double-breasted suits or tuxedos for the men. The ostentatious glimmer of diamond jewelry blinked from many throats and wrists, and the sheen of expensive fabric was obvious even to my untrained eye.

Now I understood why Alice had insisted on the dress. In her own way, she had been trying to spare me from embarrassment. My outfit, which had seemed so outlandish, was casual and quaint compared to the majority of the guests' apparel.

Ashamed of my tantrum over the dress, I hoped that Alice was in the kitchen too. I would apologize to her for being so ungracious.

Alice wasn't there. In fact, she wasn't anywhere. Esme, who was directing the horde of servers in the kitchen, thought she might be in the living room, but when I checked, the only people there was a group of older gentlemen talking politics.

Aimlessly I drifted from room to room, picking up some hors d'oeuvres and a glass of eggnog as I went. I could only nibble at the food; I wasn't really hungry, though I hadn't eaten all day.

The longer I moved, the more I could feel a burgeoning headache. The weight of the past week's stress must have finally came crashing down on me. My chest felt tight, too. I trudged over to an empty seat halfway between the living room and the foyer and flopped down on the cushions.

A few guests nodded to me or offered a friendly 'Merry Christmas', but for the most part I was left to myself. It was an interesting trait, I mused, that made people divide into small groups during social gatherings. Was it for that feeling of belonging every human craved? Perhaps it was a remnant of the ancient 'safety in numbers' impulse . . .

"Bella?" Dr. Cullen was standing in front of me.

I stumbled to my feet. There was a presence the doctor carried with him that always made me feel like I ought to genuflect when he entered a room.

"Please, sit down. I didn't mean to disturb you; I only thought to wish you a Merry Christmas." He glanced down at my plate. "Have you gotten enough to eat? More eggnog?"

The perfect host. "No, thank you. I'll be driving myself home, so I'd better not risk it, no matter how delicious it tastes."

"It's an old recipe of my grandmother's," he said conversationally. "I'm pleased you're enjoying it. I hope you're enjoying the company just as much."

"It looks beautiful in here," I said truthfully. "I especially like all those lights around the doorways. Alice did a wonderful job."

"She does have a natural talent. I don't suppose you've seen my daughter around anywhere?"

"Not yet. Actually, I've been looking for her."

"Hmm. So have I. Let me know if you see her, will you?"

"Of course." I expected him to move on, but he sat next to me with a sigh.

"Alice says you'll be visiting your father for Christmas. What does he do?'

"He's the police chief."

"A brave man," the doctor said approvingly. "Do you see him often?"

"His job tends to tie him down to Forks, so I usually come to visit once every month or two."

"That must be nice for him. I don't know what Esme and I would do if our children lived far from us." He tapped a faint rhythm on his knee, a nervous habit. "What do you have planned for your break?"

"Well, I thought . . . " I trailed off as something caught my attention – a noise that sliced through the cheerful tinkle of glassware and the idle laughter.

Piano music. Loud, stormy, passionate piano music.

Dr. Cullen heard it almost at the same moment I did, and I watched in a sort of horrified fascination as his expression changed, registering the noise that was drifting in so loudly from upstairs. He grew pale, fantastically pale, and such a look overtook his face that I unconsciously leaned back in my seat. This wasn't a matter of being uncomfortable, as it had been on Thanksgiving Day, or of wanting to step away from conflict. No, this was something more, and it took me a few seconds to identify what I was feeling.

I was frightened of Dr. Cullen.

The chatter and commotion in the living room died down as the other guests began to notice the dark sound that was clashing so dreadfully with the upbeat Christmas tunes weaving through the speakers. From my peripheral vision, I saw Esme bend around the corner, looking to her husband with wide eyes. The partygoers nearest to us had gone silent, sensing the tension in the air even if they didn't understand the cause of it.

Dr. Cullen rose from his seat. "Excuse me." Grim-faced, he took off down the hall toward the staircase.

A few people chuckled nervously, and the brief incident was immediately forgotten. Groups continued to grow and shift, and the line at the refreshment tables began to move again as the volume rose in a cacophony of voices. Esme disappeared back into the kitchen.

I blew out a shaky breath and got up. Only when I had entered the living room did I realize that I was unconsciously moving toward the staircase. The music was fainter now, hushed, but still as chaotic as before.

How could the other guests not notice this? Why weren't they all crowding around the stairs, jostling for a chance to listen to these unbelievable sounds? I wanted to scream at them, demand absolute silence so that the music could continue uninterrupted. I needed to hear more; I wanted to hear more. I bumped into someone as I walked to the stairs, but I didn't stop to apologize. I was so close.

The music stopped.

My heart nearly stopped along with it. Grief ripped through me, and I was suddenly furious at whomever had put an end to that beautiful song.

I took a few steps back, realizing that I was attracting stares, and leaned back against the wall, waiting. After a few more minutes, Dr. Cullen came down the stairs, accompanied by Alice. Both were smiling, as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place – as though no one had ever heard the sound of a piano.

Alice's eyes darted to meet mine as she swept into the living room. I saw her moving toward me, but it still startled me when her face suddenly swam into view. "Bella, you look gorgeous! I told you that dress would be perfect. Dr. Yorkie's son is still here; I can introduce him if you'd like . . ."

I could see her mouth moving, but I couldn't understand her – I shook my head to clear it and felt my legs wobble in response. Alice's hands gripped my shoulders, and through the buzzing in my ears, I could hear her calling for her father.

Dr. Cullen's handsome features were creased in a blurry frown as he hovered over me. Over me? Was I lying down?

"Bella!" I closed my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them again, the world had come back into focus. "Bella!"

Dr. Cullen's fingers were pressing against my forehead. Ouch. As if someone had turned up the volume, I could suddenly hear murmuring voices around me.

"Let's get you upstairs."

"Poor thing. Must be the heat."

"Or the eggnog."

"Can you stand up, Bella?"

I staggered upright, gripping onto Dr. Cullen's arm; Alice supported me on my other side as the three of us slowly maneuvered up the stairs. By the time we'd reached the guest bedroom, my head had started to clear again. "What happened?" I asked, as Alice helped me slip under the covers.

"I don't know. You were just fine, and then you got all pale and sweaty, and you started swaying back and forth. I thought you were going to faint."

Dr. Cullen stepped into the room, carrying a brown leather bag. He took my vitals; I cringed at the feeling of the icy stethoscope burning against my chest. "It sounds like you might have some kind of infection in your bronchial tubes, Bella," he said after he'd listened to my lungs. "Have you been coughing, or noticing drainage in your throat?"

I coughed. Ah, the power of suggestion. "Yes."

"I want you to go into the clinic after Christmas. I can't prescribe any medication for you now, but you can take some hot teas and cough syrup to help control the symptoms in the meantime. You have a fever, and you probably haven't eaten enough today. I'll have Esme bring you up some soup, and then you can rest here tonight. I don't want you driving."

"Thank you." I was too tired to fight. He patted my hand and left to order me some dinner. Alice helped me out of my dress and into one of Esme's nightgowns; she stayed with me while I finished the chicken soup and Gatorade that Dr. Cullen had brought me.

"I'm sorry for ruining your party, Alice."

She laughed. "You didn't ruin it. In fact, you helped out – everyone has something to talk about now."

"Great. I always wanted to be a hot topic of gossip."

"You should be proud of the accomplishment." She picked up my empty tray. "I'll let you get some sleep. Feel better soon, okay?"

"Believe me, I'll try." My eyes drifted shut, and I sank down gratefully into the soft mattress. What a strange day —

I woke to the sound of quiet humming. The house was silent but for that low melody; the party was over, my hazy brain told me. The guests were all gone.

That thought flitted from my head as I turned and realized that I wasn't still dreaming, or lost in the middle of a feverish hallucination. Someone really was humming – a man was in my room, sitting on the rocking chair by the window.

I jerked back, cracking my crown on the headboard; the scream that had been building up in my throat came out as a yelp of pain. Eyes watering, I shoved myself off the mattress in a fumble of sluggish limbs. The man leapt from the rocker, looking startled, and I caught a glimpse of him in the light from the lanterns outside.

A boyish face, dark eyes widened with shock, a long, lithe body silhouetted by the window . . .

I leapt up from the floor, struggling out from the twisted sheets, and grabbed a paperweight off the dresser, hurling it at him. I heard a loud smack and a muffled "Oof!" before I scrambled between the bureau and the bed.

And then the man was running, running past me. He flew from the room, tripping over the phone cord as he went. I crawled after him into the hall just in time to see him leap up the staircase and vanish onto the third floor.

I collapsed there on the carpet, breathing so hard I was probably hyperventilating; my chest hurt, my throat hurt, and I had never been so terrified in my life. Someone had been in my room, watching me sleep – and that someone was still in the house.

That got me up and moving. Alice. I needed to tell Alice. Scrambling down the hall, I shoved open her door and ran to the bed. "Alice! Alice! Wake up!" I grabbed her shoulder and shook her violently. "Wake _up!_"

She shot up from the mattress, ripping the pink eye-mask off her face. "What? What is it?" she demanded, her voice hurtling up an octave.

"Alice, there's somebody in your house . . . this guy . . . in my room . . . I woke up, and bam, there he was . . . standing. . . hurry, get your dad . . . he ran upstairs . . . call someone, he's still here . . . "

I bent over, breathless with panic, but Alice was frozen on the bed.

"Didn't you hear me? We need to get help!"

She clutched a handful of sheets and laughed. "I'm sure it's nothing, Bella. Probably just a dream. Look, why don't you get some sleep?" She glanced over at her alarm clock. "It's only two in the morning."

"What are you talking about?" I hissed. We were wasting time sitting here, when that man could be anywhere! I shook her again, in pure desperation to get her moving. "Alice, come _on!_"

Her mouth was fixed in a severe line. "Look, Bella, I'm tired, it's late, and I don't have time for this. You had a nightmare or something; there's no one in the house. Go back to bed and lock your door, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I stared at her, the harsh sound of my breathing the only noise in the suddenly still house. "What?"

"You have a fever. It was a bad dream." She rolled over and reached for her eye-mask. "I'll see you in the morning."

Disbelief was my first reaction; my legs were shaking, but I couldn't seem to move them from the floor. "Alice . . . "

"God, just go back to bed!" she snapped. "You're fine."

I did as she said, walking down the hall to my room in a daze. Cautiously I peeked into my bedroom, flicking on all the lights as I went, but it was empty – nothing inside except the furniture, my suitcase, and the tangled sheets on the bed, all untouched . . . except for one thing. The phone was turned on its side on the carpet, where the man had tripped over the cord and pulled it off the desk.

I grabbed my purse, ran into the bathroom, and gathered up my things. My hands were shaking so badly that I dropped my high heels three times before I finally jammed them into the bag. Every nerve was alert, just waiting for the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Tucking my purse under my arm, I threw my coat over the pajamas and slipped on a pair of Alice's too-small flats. I stepped back out into the hall as quietly as I could, my heart pounding up into my eardrums. I opened Alice's door. She was lying on her back with her eyes shut, but the mask was clenched in one hand, and I knew she wasn't sleeping.

"Tell your parents thanks," I choked out. "I'm sorry."

With that, I left, hurrying down the stairs like I was being pursued, though Alice never followed me. Fumbling with the lock, I swept out the front door and into the rain, sprinting to my truck. It took me several tries to get the door unlocked and the engine started, and I flew out of the driveway as fast as the truck would go, frantic to get away from the beautiful white house. To get away from the Cullens.

The rain picked up as the truck zipped down the highway. I slowed down once I was a few miles away. I was shivering, but turning on the hot air vents didn't help – I felt like I had fever chills, except that my reflection in the rearview mirror was pale, not red-cheeked and flushed. As my head cleared, I could hear a slight whimpering sound; it took me several seconds to realize that the noises were coming from my own mouth.

I focused solely on holding off a panic attack until I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment, blurred from behind a sheet of rain. One twist of the key killed the engine, and I sat there for a long time, trying my damnedest not to cry.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks to SR Devaste for being an amazing beta, and thanks to all the people who are reading and/or reviewing this!_

_bamboo_mei on the Twilighted Forum made 'Voices' a thread in the AU-AH board. Come check it out for character discussions/questions/more teasers! The link is on my profile.  
_

_The teaser this week should be a good one. ; )_

* * *


	13. THE OTHER CULLEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE OTHER CULLEN

"You've reached the residence of Bella Swan. Please leave a message after the tone, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Bella? It's Alice. Please, please pick up. I know you're there. Look, I'm sorry. Just talk to me, okay? I'm going to keep calling until you pick — "

I reached over and pressed the 'mute' button on my answering machine, cutting her off mid-sentence. There wasn't any satisfaction in the gesture. I was just tired, tired and angry and confused. The last thing I wanted to do right now was talk to anyone bearing the surname 'Cullen', but Alice was really unobliging.

I'd had a rough few weeks. Because of the fever and the inescapable fact that I'd felt like crap, I wasn't capable of driving down to Forks for Christmas. I didn't want to make anyone else sick – yeah, bronchitis would make a fabulous present for the prospective stepmother – so I'd had to call Charlie to inform him that, once again, I was unavailable for the holidays. I'd heard the disappointment in his voice and registered that I would be spending Christmas Day all alone, and somehow it had made me resent the Cullens even more, though the illness hadn't been their fault.

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was being melodramatic and unreasonable, but the fact remained that there had been a stranger in the house that night, _in my bedroom_, and Alice had blown it off completely.

I had always been a pragmatic kid. Of course I'd whiled away a few hours pretending to be a princess or an astronaut, but imagination hadn't been one of my particular gifts; books and thinking games were my preference. My own mother had called me a little old woman, a girl who didn't act like a girl. The epithet, which had been meant affectionately, made me feel strange, awkward, as though Renee was intimating that I wasn't as normal as other children.

Perhaps that was why Alice's accusations stung. My experience hadn't been a rare flight of imagination. I certainly wasn't out for attention, and the insinuation that I'd dreamed the entire thing up, ridiculous as it was, had offended me deeply.

I wanted to know why she had lied to me. I wanted to know what had happened after I left. Most of all, I wanted to know who it was that had been sitting by my bed.

My initial thoughts had been of a serial killer who lurked in dark houses to murder the occupants in their sleep, or a pervert who got his thrills from sneaking into women's bedrooms. Or even a thief lusting after Esme's fine china and crystal.

After I'd gotten out of my truck and into the apartment, my more rational side had emerged again, and I'd realized that first of all, Alice had to have known that I wasn't making up stories, and that the person in my room had not been a murderer or a burglar – she knew who was in the house and clearly wasn't afraid of him.

If it hadn't been a night creeper, then who was it? I was fairly positive that no one else lived in the Cullens' house, although given the gigantic size of it, I had to concede that it was possible that someone was there without my knowledge. Could another guest have been too ill or unable to go home, and so had also stayed the night with the Cullens? That seemed plausible, but it didn't explain why he had ended up in my room.

It made my head hurt just thinking about it, even a week after the fact. I'd tried my hardest not to dwell on it, resuming my normal schedule, going to classes and sessions, and trying to avoid Alice's phone calls, all the while battling a nasty case of bronchitis.

It was childish, yes, but I couldn't talk to her, not yet. I was done with the Cullens for now; too many freaky experiences, too many coincidences.

Too many secrets.

I wouldn't stay away forever; I already loved Alice like a sister, though she wasn't my favorite person at the moment. I had weathered what had probably been the most terrifying experience of my entire life, and all she had done was tell me to lock my door and go back to sleep.

If I hashed this out with her now, I had the feeling that our friendship wouldn't recover easily. We both needed to cope with this new wrinkle separately. I needed time to get over my frustration, and she needed time to come up with a viable explanation. This wasn't something we could simply forget and put behind us. I would never be able to trust Alice in the same way if the truth wasn't put out into the open.

And I was positive that there was a definite 'truth' behind the events of that night. Call it instinct, call it intuition – whatever it was called, it let me know that something wasn't right.

The problem was, I wasn't sure whether I really wanted to know what was _wrong_.

* * *

"Bella, are you feeling well?"

I stopped halfway through the office door, looking back at Dr. Whitlock. "Hmm?"

"You don't look like yourself." He squinted at me, studying my face intently. "You've been very quiet today, much more so than usual. Is your bronchitis worse?"

"I'm sorry." I was tired, so tired, and all I wanted was to go home and crash on the sofa. I'd hardly been able to keep my eyes open during Rosalie's session.

"I wasn't criticizing you." The doctor frowned, lacing his fingers under his chin.

"I've had a rough week," I said at last, unable to look him in the eye; instead I stared at the pattern of the wood grain on the office door. "I'll make sure it doesn't affect my work any more, sir."

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk about it, Bella?"

The irony of the moment wasn't lost on me. Smiling humorlessly, I shook my head. "No, thanks. I'd better not."

"It would be strictly off record," he reminded me.

That made me reconsider, if only for a second. I knew Dr. Whitlock would never betray anyone's confidence. But as angry as I was with Alice for lying to me, it didn't feel right sharing her family's secrets, whatever they were. "I'd rather not say. I'll be fine, really. I have to work some things out on my own first."

His expression, full of honest concern, was too painful to look at; I rushed out of the office as soon as I could, not even bothering to respond to Lauren's sneer when I smacked into the doorjamb in my haste. I wanted to go home, and my cell phone was buzzing every half-hour with a new text from Alice. Curse the woman's persistence! If she was deliberately trying to drive me insane, she couldn't have done a better job.

My phone rang one more time as I pulled up in front of my apartment, and I finally answered it in pure desperation, scruples be damned. To my surprise, it was Rosalie, not Alice, on the other line.

"Bella, it's Rose. I want to know what's going on over there."

"Excuse me?" Snatching up my purse and jacket, I ran up the stairs to my room, dogged by the weirdest feeling that someone was listening in. My paranoia was getting impossible.

"Don't you play dumb with me," she snapped. "I'm not blind or deaf. You looked like hell today; you weren't writing in that notebook of yours or staring at Whitlock, and I doubt you heard a word of anything I said. So don't pretend that something isn't up. Besides, I've gotten about fifty texts from Alice asking me to check and see if you were alright. Stupid kid is jamming up my inbox, so you'd better start explaining right now."

I sank down slowly onto the couch; Seth curled up next to me, whining softly. "Rose, I don't know what to say." My voice broke.

"You are not going to get weepy with me." The words were harsh, but Rosalie's tone had gentled. "Tell me what happened."

I told her everything about the party, about getting sick, about the piano, about my midnight visitor; it all spilled out. We'd spent a lot of time together, Rose and I, and I trusted her. ". . . And then I woke up, and he was just sitting there, right by my bed. I was so _scared_, Rose. I've never been so scared, and when I ran to get Alice, she wouldn't believe me."

There was utter silence on the other end.

"Rosalie? Are you still there?"

"I'm here." Her voice was so quiet that I had to strain to hear her.

"Now do you understand?" I finished, swiping at my eyes with my shirtsleeves. "I can't talk to Alice, not until I've had time to think this over."

"Bella, did you actually see the person who was in your room?"

I struggled to sort through the fuzzy picture in my mind. In just over a week, many of the details that had seemed so striking then had become a blur of shape and sensation. No wonder eyewitness testimony wasn't worth dirt. "It was a man, definitely. A tall man."

"Young or old?" Rosalie's tone was measured and calm, which immediately put me on alert. Measured and calm were two characteristics which did not apply to Rosalie Hale.

"Young, I think." I remembered a glimpse of a silhouette, a slim, lithe body . . . "Yes, I'm pretty sure he was young."

"And he was just sitting in the rocking chair and watching you? He didn't try to talk to you or touch you?"

I shuddered involuntarily, and Seth shoved his cold nose into my open palm. "No. He ran when he realized I was awake. I think he was scared." The realization gave me pause.

"I'm sure he was." Murmuring sounds emerged in the background, and then Rosalie spoke again, sounding very serious. "Bella, can you meet Em and me for dinner tonight?"

"Rose, I don't ----"

"I know you're freaked out, I do. Just come to Volterra tonight, and we'll talk, okay?"

"Okay," I sniffled.

The afternoon couldn't pass quickly enough, and by the time seven o'clock rolled around, I was already on the road. I hadn't bothered to change out of my work clothes or scrape off the day's crusted makeup. This wasn't a social trip. I wanted answers.

The pub was fairly empty this evening. I spotted Emmett and Rosalie in the private parlor, even though there were available tables in the main room. Mentally prepping myself for whatever conversation was about to unfold, I went back directly to join them.

"Hey, Swan." It was Emmett who greeted me, though without his usual enthusiasm. He was scruffy and exhausted, his skin tinged a sleepless gray under his tan. Rosalie was sitting next to him, her arm locked steadily around his broad waist.

I slid into the booth across from Emmett. "You aren't looking so great. Maybe you've caught the bug too."

He rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. "I wish."

"Thanks for coming," Rosalie said. "We can get something to eat first, or we can just talk."

"I'm not hungry," I said.

Emmett smiled. "Believe it or not, babe, neither am I."

"That's a first."

"Yeah." He squared his massive shoulders and leaned over the marble tabletop. "Alice told me what happened, Bella. I'm sorry you had deal with all that shit, but please don't be too mad at her. She's only trying to protect you." He glanced over at Rosalie. "And Edward."

_Edward_. Why did that name sound familiar? "Who's Edward?"

"My brother. Our brother."

For one charged second I thought he might be joking, but Emmett's face was stone. "What?" I said weakly.

"There are three of us, three kids in the family: Alice, Edward, and I. Edward is the youngest, my little brother. He was born on June 20th, 1985. He's twenty years old." Emmett spoke in a dark monotone, as though he were reading from a report. "He was the one who was in your room that night, Bella. He wouldn't have hurt you; he was just curious." A trace of desperation broke into his voice. "He would never hurt you."

Never hurt me? Alice had another brother? The Cullens had another son? My eyes darted from Emmett to Rosalie and back. "I don't understand."

"He's sick, Bella. His mind — " Emmett paused, and I saw Rose squeeze his hand. "I'm sure you know more about this than I do." He chuckled faintly and swept a quivering hand through his hair. "Edward has schizoaffective disorder."

My breath left me in a rush. Schizoaffective disorder. Everyone with a psychiatric degree knew what that diagnosis meant for a patient. Possibilities were already spinning in my brain: hallucinations, manic depression, delusions, personality disorders, memory loss . . .

"He's been that way for five years," Emmett said softly, forcing me to snap out of my tumbling thoughts.

"Dear Lord." My heart was breaking for the Cullens, for Emmett, for Alice – oh, God. That explained everything. Alice knew it was her brother. She was just trying to keep him safe.

I felt like a complete ass.

Only the sound of Rosalie clearing her throat reminded me that there was a more pressing matter at hand. I put down my phone, which I'd unconsciously pulled out, ready to call Alice and apologize.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I really am."

He shook his head. "We've had plenty of time to adjust to it. It sucks, but there's not a thing we can do. It's not Edward's fault." Lifting his head, he looked me in the eye, and behind the weariness, there was a spark of pure determination. He withdrew his wallet and opened it up. "Here he is," he murmured, pulling out a crumpled photograph. "Here's Edward."

I accepted the photo, and it took only a second to connect the handsome, smiling young man in the picture to the little boy who'd been sitting on Dr. Cullen's lap in the family portrait. The face had matured, sharpened, and lost much of its lingering baby fat, but those beautiful green eyes were unchanged. How could I have not made the connection?

"Let me tell you about Edward, Bella. Let me tell you what he was like . . . before. Please."

After a glance at Rosalie for permission, I reached over to cover Emmett's hand with mine. "I'd love to hear about Edward. Tell me."

And he did. The stories flew out, one after another, painting a picture of a studious boy who loved music and baseball, who was doted on by parents and siblings alike; a quiet, thoughtful kid who'd grown up too fast and lost everything over the course of one tumultuous year.

Edward had been a normal boy up until his early teens, when the symptoms of schizoaffective disorder usually begin to manifest themselves. His father had immediately sent his son to a variety of psychiatrists and medical doctors, trying desperately to find a cure for Edward's rapidly worsening condition. Every resource available was used: therapy, medication, dozens of blood tests, but nothing seemed to help. For all his wealth and influence, Dr. Cullen was unable to find the key to a cure.

There was so much resentment, so much frustration inside Emmett. I could feel it pulsing just below the surface as he talked about his father, about the treatment, about Edward's miserable condition.

"We tried everything," he told me. "Everything. Do you know that Alice and I traveled all over the world because of it? Dad and Mom would take Edward to a new specialist, and we'd have to go along, quit school, leave our friends behind."

"That must have been very hard on you."

He pinned me with a hard stare. "It didn't matter. Sure, we got sick of always being moved, of always having to start over, but it was worth it for Edward's sake. I love my brother."

"I didn't mean to insinuate that you didn't." I fell back into the measured response without really thinking about it. He was defensive, and I said what I had been trained to say. My mind was still stuck on the fact that there was another Cullen, one I'd never heard about.

Never heard about . . .

"May I ask you something, Emmett?"

"Sure."

"Why didn't Alice tell me about Edward? I mean, I understand why your family would want to guard his privacy, but I wasn't even aware that he _existed_. No one ever mentioned anything about him."

Emmett grew very still. "Mom and Dad don't talk about him. Alice and I learned not to."

"I'm a bit confused. Are you saying that no one knows that you have a brother?" I was incredulous. It sounded like the plot of an absurd Gothic novel: the 'abnormal' child who's locked up in the attic, kept from the light of day and concealed from the prying eyes of the outside world.

"Nah." He chortled, a bitter sound. "People know about Edward: his doctors, some of Dad's coworkers, our lawyer, the bigwigs . . . Yeah, they all know. It just isn't common knowledge. Dad doesn't go around introducing himself like 'Hello, I'm Dr. Cullen, and my son Edward has schizoaffective disorder.'" His cheeks were rapidly filling with hot color.

"Baby, don't get upset." Rose reached out to stroke his arm soothingly.

"I'm fine!" he barked. "Why should I be upset? My brother's gone crazy, and my parents keep him locked up like a damn dog. No, there's _no reason_ to be upset."

Anger. So much anger.

"What do you mean, 'locked up'?" I asked cautiously.

Emmett buried his face in his hands, beyond words. Rose answered instead.

"He lives up on the third floor," she said softly, running her fingers through Emmett's curls. "He has a big room, with a piano to play. He never comes downstairs during the day, he stays up there."

Emmett jerked up from the booth, bumping the table with his hip. "'Scuse me."

I watched him leave, his big frame parting the crowd by the door. "Is he okay?"

Rosalie's eyes were sad. "He'll be alright. You remember that day I bitched at Whitlock and told you that Em and I fought?"

"Yes."

"The fight was about Edward." She tapped her nails on the tabletop."Em told me that morning, after he came back from his parents' house. He'd had a bad time over Thanksgiving with his dad, and he wanted to tell someone. I never should have blown up at him; he was feeling like crap and I made it worse.

"I was so mad at him for not telling me the truth. I mean, he had a fricking _brother_ and he never told me. But the point is, it really hurts him to talk about it, Bella. You've gotten yourself involved in this family and you deserve to know," she blew out a tired breath, "but I hate seeing him like this."

My throat felt tight. "I'm sorry, Rose."

"There's more to the story. I don't understand it all either, but as long as Em needs my help, I'm here. Just please don't talk about this with anyone, not even Whitlock."

"I swear I won't."

"Good." She cleared her throat, and added, "And if you do, I'll kick your skinny ass all the way back to Arizona. Got it?"

I smiled weakly. "Got it."

I waited until Emmett returned to the table, looking much calmer, before I took my leave. Rose and Emmett needed time to hash some issues out together, and I had a few things I needed to do myself.

It was time to call Alice.

* * *

_A/N: My eternal gratitude to my awesome critique partner, SR Devaste; she's got some major college exams ahead of her, so send some good wishes her way!_

_I can't say how much I appreciate the reviews and PMs I get -- they really make my day. Thank you! (Oh, and if you don't get your teaser within a day of reviewing, make sure you let me know so I can send it on.)  
_

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	14. BROTHER AND SISTER

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BROTHER AND SISTER

Shifting nervously in my chair, I waited for the sound of the doorbell. A glance over at the clock informed me that it was five minutes to six, and Alice would be here soon.

I couldn't decide whether to be excited or anxious. I missed her, but I didn't know if she was upset with me for pushing her away so completely. I'd never read her to be a person who held grudges, but I wouldn't blame her if she did. After all, I'd cast her out without giving her a chance to explain herself.

She certainly hadn't sounded angry when I'd called to invite her over for lunch. I'd whipped up my best casserole and baked a chocolate cake for dessert. It was a cheap ploy, to ply her with food in the hopes of forgiveness, but I didn't know how else to communicate how regretful I was.

Lost in my thoughts, the long-awaited sound of the buzzer came as a shock. I rushed to my feet, almost stepping on Seth's tail in the process, and went to the door. After giving my sweaty palms one last swipe on my jeans, I turned the knob and opened the door.

Alice stood in the hallway, carrying a brown paper bag in one arm and a small box in the other.

"Hi," she said quietly, without a smile.

"Hi."

A few seconds ticked away as we stood on opposite sides of the threshold; Seth sauntered over to sniff around Alice's feet. I felt a cold chill settling in my chest as the uncomfortable silence stretched out. I'd ruined it. I'd ruined our friendship.

Feeling the uneasy burn of tears behind my eyes, I stared down at Seth, who was eagerly eyeing the grocery bag. I wanted to shut the door and go curl up under the covers. This was a nightmare.

A loud sob made me look up as I realized that the sound had come from Alice. She was crying.

"Alice?"

"I'm sorry!" she wailed, dropping her packages on the floor; Seth yipped as the bag bumped him on the rear. "I'm sorry, Bella! I was so stupid, I should have told you right away – I can't believe you drove all the way home when you were sick! You could have crashed, you could have _died_, and it would have been all my fault! I should have told you first thing, when you came into my room. You were so scared, and I'm so sorry."

"No, it's my fault," I interrupted, reaching out for her blindly. We hugged, giggling a little over our emotional outbursts, and I led her into the apartment.

"I really am sorry, Bella," Alice said, after we'd gotten to the table and calmed down a little. "Can we still talk?"

"Of course."

I dished up the cake and coffee first; this situation called for caffeine _and_ chocolate.

"Where to start . . ." Alice took a long drag of the steaming coffee and grimaced. "How much do you know?"

"Emmett and Rose told me about Edward and the schizoaffective disorder," I said.

She scrubbed at her reddened eyes. "I guess that's as good a place as any to begin. You know he was the one in your room, right?"

"Yeah. Emmett said that Edward lives upstairs."

"I suppose I'd better explain a bit more," she sighed, pausing for another fortifying sip. "Do you remember that day we were shopping and I told you how I used to spy on the Christmas party from upstairs, when I was a kid?"

I nodded.

"It got me thinking, what you said about how it wasn't fair. Edward and I haven't done that together for so long, and he never can come downstairs and join in. I mean, I get to help plan and decorate for the party, and all Edward gets is some food from the refreshment table, and," she swallowed, "well, I thought maybe I'd change it this year."

"What happened?"

"He was having one of his good days, Bella, so I thought it would be okay. I convinced him to sit behind the banister with me, and we watched the party together, just like we used to." A soft smile lit her face. "It was so fun. We listened to the music and watched the people go by, and I told him all about the decorations and the shopping. Edward and I, we don't get to have much time like that anymore, so it was extra special. I wanted to take him to the party itself, but I knew that Dad wouldn't allow it, so eventually I had to bring him back to his room."

"Did he not want to go?"

She was quiet for a minute. "I don't think he wanted _me_ to go. He gets so lonely sometimes. To be honest, I didn't want to go either, but I knew that people would start looking for me, so I did it anyway."

"And then?"

"This is going to sound really awful, Bella. I got him settled in his room, but I forgot to lock his door on the way down." Seeing my expression, she groaned. "We only lock it when there are other people in the house. It's as much for his safety as theirs, because we don't want strangers wandering up into his bedroom by accident. It freaks him out when people he doesn't know invade his space or catch him alone, and someone might get hurt.

"Well, I didn't lock the door, and he must have wandered back down to the second floor to find me. There's a piano on second floor too, in the west lounge, a full-size Steinway. Edward loves his baby grand, but he plays the Steinway on special occasions." She sighed. "He went into the lounge and started playing it; I know you heard it. Everyone did. The lounge is right next to the stairs."

"He's a wonderful musician," I breathed. "That playing was exquisite. I heard him once before, on Thanksgiving."

She looked surprised. "Did you?"

"Esme told me that you'd left your stereo on."

"Of course."

"So, why was he playing?" I asked, hoping to draw her back.

"Edward used to play carols for us at Christmas. He's very talented, and Dad was so proud of him, since none of the rest of us have any musical ability. Every year Edward would sit at the piano for a few hours at the party. Mom used to call him our 'live entertainment'. I guess he was just doing what he used to do."

For some reason, the thought made me incredibly sad. I didn't know Edward, I didn't know the specifics of his case, or the dynamics between the Cullens, but there was still something so tragic about a solitary man playing the piano alone while his family and friends celebrated downstairs. The more I heard, the less charitable I was feeling toward Esme and Dr. Cullen.

"I should apologize too for running out on you," I said, after we'd sat in reflective silence for a bit. "It was rude and childish of me, and I need to apologize to your parents too."

"They were more worried than anything else, Bella. You were so sick, and driving in winter conditions wouldn't have helped."

"I made it home fine, no matter how stupid I was being. I guess I don't think too clearly under pressure."

Alice shrugged and took another slice from the pan. "I'm just glad you weren't hurt. Did you go in to see a doctor yet?"

I had to laugh. Even after my pettiness, she was still fretting over my health. Unbelievable. "I went into the clinic a few days ago. They gave me some pills, and I'll be fine in a week or two."

"Good," she said, scooping up a spoonful of cake. "For what it's worth, I forgive you."

"I forgive you too." We smiled at each other, and just like that, the knot of tension in my chest loosened.

"That reminds me . . . you do know that you were safe the whole time, don't you?" Her anxious expression reminded me forcibly of Emmett. He had asked me almost the same thing. "Edward wouldn't hurt a fly. I know my brother, and he didn't frighten you on purpose."

"I never felt threatened, exactly," I clarified, hoping to soothe her concerns. "I was just startled, and it did creep me out a little. Why _was_ he in my room? Do you know?"

"It was sort of my fault too. See, I told him about you. I told him that you were a good friend of mine; I told him how nice you were, and what a help you'd been to all of us. He wanted to meet you, but . . . " She looked down at her plate. "I was being stupid."

"It's okay, Alice."

"I guess he decided he would meet you whether I wanted him to or not." She smiled slightly. "He has a strong will.

"I don't know why he didn't wake you up and try to talk to you – maybe he felt too shy, or maybe he was just being a gentleman and didn't want to disturb you – but I swear, Bella, he would never lay a finger on you." Her voice was so earnest that I couldn't help but feel the truth in what she said.

"I believe you. He was just sitting there, and he ran as soon as I woke up." I remembered what had taken place just moments after I'd been so abruptly awakened. "Is he okay? I think I hit him with a paperweight."

She laughed. "You gave him a pretty good bump on his stomach, but he wasn't hurt and he isn't mad at you. No blood, no foul."

With that, the subject was put to rest. The guilt and apologies were over, and by mutual consent, the topic of Christmas Eve was officially closed between us.

I brought out the slightly-burnt casserole, and we finished dinner together. Alice did most of the talking. Once the floodgates had been opened, she was ready, even eager, to talk to someone about Edward. Years of keeping secrets had worn her down.

Alice had brought over some of Edward's baby books to show me, as well as a copy of his medical report that she had taken from her father's office. I balked when she first took the file folder out of her bag.

"Alice, I can't read that. It's confidential, and it's illegal for me to look at his psychological history without permission. He's what, twenty years old now? I'd need his written consent."

She shook her head, mouth fixed in a stubborn line. "Dad has power of attorney and protective custody of Edward. You would need his signature, and I know he would never give it to you, so I'm giving you permission. You might as well just do it. It's not official, and Dad won't know. I'll have it back in his office before he even comes home; he's working night shift."

"Alice . . ."

"Please, Bella. For me. For Edward."

Reluctantly, I accepted the file and opened it with some trepidation. The first sheet was a transcript of his identification paperwork: _Edward Anthony Cullen, Male, Age 20; born June 20th, 1985; under care of Dr. and Mrs. Carlisle Cullen. _I grazed over that material, zoning in on the extensive list of diagnostic tests and sessions that Edward had been subject to over the last five years. The amount was staggering. There were dozens of names of doctors and therapists, clinics from California to Connecticut and all the states in between.

And with each new doctor, there was a stack of paperwork with final reports and treatment suggestions, catalogues of all the theories and medications that had been tested and eventually rejected. Alice sat quietly next to me at the table as I immersed myself in a detailed record that was slowly revealing the depth of the Cullens' ordeal.

_Extensive delusions . . . his inability to cope with internal and external conflict . . . hallucinations and extreme paranoia . . . Mr. Cullen shows signs of burgeoning manic depression . . . fits of euphoria and incoherence . . . possible personality disorder . . . obsession with personifying inner conflict . . . ._ A few phrases jumped out at me from the clutter of information and speculation; it was overwhelming, fascinating, terrifying. I read only a few pages before I couldn't take it anymore. It was too much.

Closing the file, I turned to Alice. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"We started to suspect that something was wrong about a year before," she told me softly. "Actually, I was the one who noticed first. All of us were close, but Edward and I . . . " She closed her eyes and sighed. "Mom used to say that we should have been twins. Everything we did, we did together. I miss that so much; I miss my brother."

I reached down to hold her hand, and she clung tightly to it as she continued. "The first thing was that he wanted to be left alone. I mean, Edward has never been a very social person, but this was like total isolation. Sometimes a day would go by and we'd only see him once or twice. It wasn't like him, but Mom and Dad played it off as teenage hormones.

"About six months before he turned fifteen, he started getting sick a lot and missed school. He told me that he had these horrible headaches that wouldn't go away. I begged him to go to Dad for help, but he didn't want to cause trouble, so he'd just pop some aspirin and try to sleep it off. Except they kept getting worse."

Headaches. How odd. It wasn't unheard of for mental issues to be accompanied by physical ones, but that was usually the result of the stress and a vulnerable immune system. "Does he get the headaches now?"

"No. If there's one good thing about all this, it's that they stopped. But they got worse before they got better. He was having them three times a week toward the end," she said.

"And your parents didn't say anything?"

"I think they were starting to get suspicious, but Edward is good at hiding his problems. That's why it took so long for us to realize that it wasn't just hormones or a growth spurt. He fooled us all. Even I had no idea how serious it was."

"When did you realize it _was_ serious?"

"He started talking funny. I mean, most of the time he made sense, but every once in a while, these bizarre things would pop out. He mentioned seeing things and hearing people moving in the house at night. At first I thought he was having nightmares or something, but then he had these delusions in broad daylight, while he was still awake." Alice shifted, propping her chin on her knees and hugging her legs close to her body. "I think he only talked about them to me, because Mom and Dad weren't anxious. If only I'd gone to them sooner . . ."

I handed her a napkin so she could wipe her eyes. "It wasn't your fault, Alice. Even if they'd have caught it earlier, there's no guarantee that it would have been diagnosed correctly."

"I know," she said glumly. "I know it isn't my fault, but you can't help but wonder sometimes. It got weird when he began warning me about these 'things' that were prowling around the house. He wanted me to lock my door at night so I would be safe; he told me to be careful and not to go outside after dark. I thought he was joking, at least at first. He was always a little overprotective of me."

"What were these 'things'?"

"He's never told me. Said it's a secret. His doctors have been trying to pry it out of him for years, but he refuses to say what exactly they are."

"That's normal. For schizoaffective sufferers, I mean," I added, seeing Alice's expression of disbelief. "Their delusions can be very private to them."

"Well, whatever it is, that wasn't the end of it," she said. "It got really strange, and that's when I finally went to Dad. Edward was absolutely convinced that there was something different about me too. I don't know where he got the idea, but he began to believe that I was a psychic."

"What?"

"He honestly thought I had psychic abilities, no matter what I said to the contrary." She chuckled. "As if I could predict anything. Can you imagine me in some daytime TV infomercial as 'Madame Alice'? I could give out generic love advice and fortunes for a cheap rate. Probably make some pretty good money too."

"Does he still think that?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I humor him, tell him little things like what the weather will be like tomorrow or what we'll have for supper. He doesn't seem to realize that I'm just watching the Weather Channel or asking Mom what's on the menu. He really believes that I can see the future." She crumpled the damp napkin in her fist, a look of misery on her face. "God, I'm such a horrible sister."

I didn't know what to say.

"It all went downhill from there. Once Dad got wind of what was happening, he started dragging Edward to psych clinics, trying to find a clear diagnosis. Everyone had a different opinion, a different treatment, a different style. Some thought he should have counseling, others wanted to give him craploads of medicine, and one idiot told us that he should be institutionalized for a better assessment. We tried a little bit of everything.

"The institution was the worst. He was only sixteen, and we didn't see him for almost three months. Doctor Crackpot promised us that Edward could be cured if he was separated completely from the family, so we packed up and took him out to the treatment center. Edward cried when we left." Alice trailed off, looking up at me with tear-swollen eyes. "It just about killed my parents."

"It didn't do any good." It wasn't a question; I'd heard of those clinics, where they believed that isolation from the pressures of the modern world was a cure-all. 'Doctor Crackpot' sounded right on the money.

"It didn't do shit, except make us all miserable," she bit out. "Mom was on the verge of a nervous breakdown with Edward so far away, so Dad finally caved in and brought him home. Edward still won't talk about what happened there.

"Over the years, I guess you could say we've kind of given up. Nothing seems to work and we're out of resources. So, he pretty much lives at home and does his own thing. He had to quit school in ninth grade, but he's been tutored by Mom and Dad ever since. Edward's smart, Bella. He's as smart as anyone else, smarter maybe. His mind just works differently. We knew college would never be an option for him, and it's impossible for him to have a job in the real world."

"What does he do all day?" I asked. It concerned me to think that he was drifting aimlessly through life. That wasn't good for anyone's mental health.

"He composes. He's a master on the piano, and he writes his own music. I've never seen anything like it. If I didn't know better, I would say he's almost a savant." There was real pride in her voice. "We've sent lots of it in to be published. It's anonymous, to keep the publicity low. His arrangements are used in compilations and musical theory books. The salary isn't spectacular, but it makes him happy to do something productive."

That was encouraging. It certainly couldn't hurt to have him involved in a useful activity that he could take pleasure in too. "Well, he sounded amazing, Alice. I've never heard anything like it. I thought the music was from a CD," I admitted.

"He is amazing," she agreed. "We thought that he was going to make it big; there was even talk of him being Julliard material. He had so much drive and ambition. If anyone could have done it, he could."

So much potential, all wasted.

Eventually Alice and I moved from the table to the couch; she brought out the photo albums, pointing out her favorite pictures and telling me stories of her childhood, sharing her memories of Edward with me. It was a privilege to hear them and I listened closely, absorbing everything she said.

There were so many photographs. Esme had obviously spent many hours on her children's baby albums, decorating them elaborately like a scrapbook. With every turn of the page, I saw Edward grow and mature, changing from an adorable, chubby, red-headed toddler to a graceful young man with a million-dollar smile. He'd been blessed with his father's clean-cut features and Esme's fair coloring, an attractive mix. I watched, smiling despite myself, as Edward rode his first bike, covered his face in chocolate pudding, and posed for the camera, showing off his missing front teeth.

My favorite was a snapshot of Alice and Edward standing in front of the Space Needle, arms around each other's shoulders. Emmett was in the background, towering over his siblings and making 'bunny-ears' behind their heads.

"That was the first time we visited Seattle," Alice commented, noticing the direction of my gaze. "Grandma Platt used to live here, and we didn't get to see her very much. We had such a good time on that trip."

"How old were you?"

She studied the picture for a moment, feathering her fingers over the thin plastic. "I was nine, so Edward was eight, and Em was twelve. I think . . . if we'd known what was going to happen, we would have lived differently. Our vacations were about the only time all of us were together. Dad was always working."

"You know, Alice, I didn't live with Charlie until I was seventeen," I said. "I stopped coming to Forks in the summer to visit for a few years because I thought it was too 'boring.' I've regretted that I didn't spend more of that time with him later. He was really hurt by it."

"But at least you're able to see him now," she reminded me.

I looked back down at the photograph, admiring a certain pair of green eyes. "I guess I've been lucky."

Gently Alice pulled the album from my hands and put it back in the box. "I had another reason for coming here tonight, Bella. I want to ask you for a favor."

"Sure. What kind of favor?"

"Will you come with me and meet Edward tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure I should do that," I said cautiously. I hated to see the disappointment in her eyes, but I wasn't taking any risks. "It would be unethical to get involved that way."

"I didn't mean like that. I'm only asking you to meet him, just once. Will you? Mom's working. I can come pick you up, and we'll drive out together. I won't force you, Bella, but I'm asking you, as a friend."

What could one visit hurt? "Okay," I heard myself say. "I'll come."

* * *

A/N: _I'm so sorry it's taken me a month to update! *grovels* I've gotten used to college life now, so updates between posts shouldn't be longer than a week from here on out. Thanks to SR Devaste and everyone who has faithfully reviewed this. I really appreciate hearing from you!_

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	15. EDWARD

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EDWARD

It was a testament to my frayed nerves that I hardly took notice of the fact that Alice was driving at least fifteen miles over the speed limit. All I could think of was who I was about to meet this morning.

"It'll be fine," Alice remarked, as though she could hear my jittery thoughts. "I promise nothing bad will happen. He won't hurt you."

"I'm not thinking that he will," I said hastily.

She kept her eyes trained on the road. "Yeah, I'm glad. I just wanted to be sure. He was having a really good day when I saw him early this morning, and I think he'll be happy to see you this time."

When we finally parked in the Cullens' driveway, my stomach was in a twist. I couldn't understand my own fear; I wasn't afraid of Edward. No, that wasn't it. I didn't really know why I was panicking. Geez, if I couldn't even cope with meeting someone off-record, I needed to reassess my career choice.

"I'm going to go see if Mom's left yet. Stay put." Alice slammed the door and jogged over to the three-car garage, peeping in one of the windows. Turning around, she gave me a thumbs-up, and I climbed out of the Porsche.

Alice let us in the back door and led me to the living room. "Why don't you chill here for a minute? I'll go up and see if Edward is still . . . in the mood for a visit. Be right back."

Obediently, I went to sit on the couch, but I couldn't stay there for more than a minute. Walking in slow circles around the room, I tried to fix my mind on anything except the two people upstairs.

My ears were perked for the slightest creak of footsteps on the staircase. Alice was really taking a long time. Could Edward not want to see me?

The thought disappointed me. After learning so much from Alice and Emmett, I almost felt that I knew him already. This wasn't about pity, or wanting to supplicate my friends. Edward's story had resonated with me, and I wanted to know him, wanted to help him if I could.

I wandered down the hall, feeling confined in even the spacious living room. Anxiety was rapidly being replaced with restlessness. Waiting was always hard.

There were a variety of framed photographs in the foyer, clustered around the window, and I paused to study them. Dr. Cullen, Esme, Emmett, and Alice all smiled back at me from the wall, but there wasn't a picture of the other Cullen boy. I did a double-take, disbelieving, but my eyes had been reliable: no Edward.

Before I could process exactly how I felt about that, I heard Alice calling for me. I followed her voice back to the living room, where I stopped, frozen in the threshold.

Alice wasn't alone. A young man wearing a blue button-up and khakis stood next to her, smiling shyly at me, hands in his pockets.

"Bella, this is my brother, Edward." Alice's soft voice recalled me to reality. "Edward, this is Bella Swan."

The uncertain smile split into a full-out grin, and I was momentarily stunned. "Hello, Bella. It's a pleasure to meet you at last." His voice was lovely, a rich baritone.

"Same here." Pulling on my composure, I reached out to shake his hand, only to pause and glance at Alice. Perhaps he didn't like to be touched?

As if he hadn't noticed my hesitation, Edward stepped forward to meet me halfway, engulfing my fingers in his. I hadn't realized how big his hands were – I felt petite in comparison.

"Thanks for coming," he said warmly. "I'm glad to have a chance to start over."

I was surprised that he would allude to our last 'meeting'. Was he aware of what had really happened that night? Was he capable of registering events as they took place? Did he have full schizophrenic tendencies? I knew I should have asked Alice more questions!

"Well, why don't you both sit down, and I'll go make some breakfast. Edward hasn't eaten yet, and I know for a fact that you haven't had anything but coffee, Bella. That stuff's going to burn a hole in your intestines if you keep drinking it straight. Do you like waffles?"

"What? Uh, waffles are fine." Dimly, I became aware that I was still shaking Edward's hand, and I extricated my fingers, trying to be nonchalant. "You don't have to go to all that trouble," I added.

"No problem. If you need something, holler." With one cautious, eager glance between us, Alice left.

What was she _doing?_ I resisted the urge to call her back, feeling the heat of Edward's eyes on my face. It wasn't a crude stare, or anything like that – it was frankly curious, as though he were assessing me, trying to ferret out my secrets. I returned his attention and discovered that the photos Alice had shown me simply didn't do him justice.

He was beautiful. It was traditionally a feminine attribute, and though there was nothing effeminate in his manner, somehow the term just suited him. Tall and slim, he had an air of dignity about him much like his father, though his hair was a replication of Esme's: bronze, thick, and curled loosely at his nape. As I studied his face, I noticed two bruise-purple shadows just beneath his eyes, a startling abnormality among such perfect features. Of course, I was soon after distracted by the eyes themselves, spring green eyes that were serious, calm, old. Old eyes in a young face – that was something I'd seen a lot of.

I was in awe, which should have been enough to tip me off that this entire situation was awry. I'd never thought of myself as a superficial person, but there was something so alluring about him that for a moment I forgot why I had come here. I couldn't stop gaping at the man like a moron.

He was looking back at me just as studiously, his brow furrowed, as though I were a puzzle to be solved. "Won't you sit down, Bella?" he asked, when our staring contest began to get awkward.

"Sure. Thank you." I lowered myself onto the couch, watching Edward do the same in the chair across from me. The glass coffee table and a decorative wine rack formed a barricade of sorts in front of us. Was he deliberately putting distance between us? He must not be comfortable with close contact. Yet, he'd shaken my hand without any problems . . . I filed those thoughts away for later.

"I hope I didn't hurt you with the paperweight," I blurted. _What a great ice-breaker, Bella._ His serene demeanor was flustering me; I didn't know how to talk to him.

Edward grinned, looking at that moment uncannily like Emmett. "I'm fine, thanks. Bella, I do want to sincerely apologize for frightening you in any way. It wasn't my intention."

_Then what **was** your intention?_ Part of me wanted to demand an explanation, but ninety-five percent of my brain was still absorbed with looking at him. His speech pattern was peculiar for a twenty year-old – I noticed that right off the bat – and he was well-groomed and impeccably polite. Well, what had I expected? A haggard, emaciated kid with belt-stripes and torn clothes, spouting word-salad?* I chided myself for being stupid and judgmental. I wasn't here to evaluate a patient; I was here to meet my best friend's brother.

Edward was twisting his hands restlessly, and I realized that I'd never answered him. "Of course you didn't mean to," I said quickly. "It's all forgiven. Shall we start over?"

His frown melted away. "I'd like that very much."

The entire situation was beginning to feel farcical. Maybe there were cameras hidden somewhere in the room. Was 'Candid Camera' even on the air anymore?

"Um, I heard you playing your piano," I ventured. Perhaps talking about something familiar would encourage him. "You play beautifully. I've never heard anything like it."

"Thank you." He flushed a little.

"How did you learn? Have you played for long?"

"Since I was four," he replied, warming to the subject. "My mother played some, and since Alice and Em didn't want to learn, she taught me. I was sent to a tutor later."

"You must practice a lot."

"I enjoy it." He shrugged. "It's never seemed like a chore."

The words were flowing more easily now, and I felt brave enough to go on prodding him for information. I wanted to know everything about him. "Alice told me your work has been published."

"Did she?" Edward looked a bit uncomfortable. "Well, yes, a little. Just music books for beginners and things like that. Nothing major."

"It's still an accomplishment. I've sent in dozens of research papers, and none of them were ever published," I said.

"I bet they're very good. You seem pretty articulate to me." He flashed me a charming smile, and I had to look away for a moment.

"Articulate or not, no one wanted to read them," I laughed, "so I'd say you've beat me on that point."

"I'dlike to read them."

I swore inwardly. I'd set myself up for that trap; those papers were psychological analyses, and I didn't know if Alice had told her brother what I did for a living.

"I think they'd probably bore you, though I appreciate the vote of confidence." I forced a giggle, the sound insipid even to my ears. "They even bore me a little when I read back on them. I don't have the most riveting narrative style. I suppose that's why I wasn't an English major. How about you, Edward? What did you like to study?"

"Besides music you mean?" he asked. "History. I always loved history and science."

"The two subjects I hated," Alice interrupted, coming into the room with our breakfast. "No one's here to scold us, so I thought we could eat out here today." She set the tray on the coffee table and settled down by her brother. "Biology was the only subject that really sucked, but I loved Trig and Calculus."

"Really?" I accepted a plate of waffles and a glass of juice which Edward thoughtfully poured for me. "Thanks. I didn't know you were a math whiz, Alice."

"Yeah," she admitted, never one for false modesty. "I always aced those classes, but I never wanted to do it for a living, you know? It just wasn't me."

"So you're a mathematician, Emmett's an engineer, and," I turned to Edward, "you're a virtuoso. I'm feeling kind of insignificant here."

The two of them laughed, though Edward was quick to reassure me. "You seem clever to me, though I can't account for your taste in hanging around with Alice."

She socked him playfully. "Eat your food and shut it, kid."

Edward reached for his plate obediently, but he shot a little smirk in my direction. "She calls me 'kid' because she's one whole year older than I am."

I only smiled, sticking a bite of waffle in my mouth without tasting it. Frankly, I was feeling a bit lost. This cheerful rendezvous wasn't what I had imagined, given Alice's dramatic explanation. Of course, I wasn't disappointed to find my suspicions unproven, it was just that it was feeling somewhat surreal.

Alice took up where we left off, telling horror stories about some of her past teachers while Edward and I ate and listened. I couldn't quite concentrate, as my attention kept returning to the man sitting next to her. The feeling must have been mutual, as I noticed his eyes straying once or twice in my direction.

After depositing the empty dishes in the kitchen, we settled in Alice's room; she pulled the heavy, black curtains closed, plunging the room into complete darkness before she flicked on the lights. I shot her a curious glance, but she made a 'tell-you-later' gesture and turned her attention back to her brother.

Edward was quieter now, not volunteering much, but he seemed relaxed, at his ease. In contrast I felt my own anxiety increase. The longer he stayed composed and calm, the more I expected a violent eruption. This serenity couldn't be natural.

". . . That's why I chose it over Brandon's," Alice was saying, wrapping up the somewhat convoluted account of the interview that had landed her in her position with the Denali sisters. "Kate's been an awesome boss, and I feel like I'm needed there. We all need to put those degrees to use. I need to take you out there sometime, Bella, so you can see where it all happens. You can meet Laurent too."

Edward wore an indulgent look; he'd probably heard this particular story a hundred times. "That reminds me – you've never said what you were studying, Bella. I can assume you're not majoring in mathematics, at least."

I froze in my seat, throwing a worried glance at Alice. She linked her fingers in her lap and shifted to face her brother. "Bella's going to be a psychologist, Edward."

He blinked, and then his face hardened. "Oh."

I felt my throat tighten up. "I hope you don't think . . . I'm not . . . I wanted to meet you."

"I'm sure you did," he said coldly. "Excuse me." Rising gracefully from the chair, he held out his hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Bella."

His sister started to protest, but one look from him silenced her. I shook his hand bleakly and watched him slip out into the hall, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alice groaned. "Dammit."

"I should have told him from the beginning," I whispered, an unpleasant sensation of shame curling up in my stomach. "He's going to feel like I lied to him."

"No, he's going to feel like you were brain-shrinking him from the start." She got up, pacing across the length of her room. "Never mind. He never would have talked to you at all if he'd known what you were."

"And now he won't talk to me again."

She crossed her arms and plopped down next to me. "Tell me what you thought of Edward. Did you like him?"

"I thought he was very charming." I stumbled over the word. 'Charming' didn't quite fit, but it was as close as I could get to describing him. Charismatic, maybe? "I liked him, yes. To be honest, Alice, he wasn't exactly how I'd pictured him."

"This was a good day for him," she murmured, seemingly lost in thought. "What would you say to coming back to see him later this week?"

"I don't think he'll want to see me."

Alice ignored me. "He liked you, I could tell. If we could just convince him that you weren't trying to deceive him, maybe he'd be willing to do it."

"Do what?"

"Well, you're a psychologist, and Edward isn't seeing a doctor right now----"

"Alice, _no!_ You have no idea what you're saying." I was furious. How could she ask that of me? "I can't wave a magic wand and make everything better. Edward is seriously ill, and I'm not qualified to help him. I've only just started practical application this semester. I'm a student, not a professional."

"Professionals couldn't help him either. Who cares if you're a student? I trust you and Edward likes you, which is more than I could say for some of his past doctors. I have a good feeling about this."

"I thought you said you weren't a psychic."

"Don't get sarcastic with me," she muttered. "If you really don't want to do this, I can't make you. I wouldn't make you even if I could. I just think it would help him to have a friend. Don't tell me you're not at least a little bit interested."

I couldn't dispute that. He was a very engaging person. "I could make him worse. I could do something wrong and cause him to regress. It happens. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Neither do we. He's strong; little mistakes won't set him back. At least think about it, Bella. I'm not asking for a decision now. Just think about it," she pleaded. When I didn't respond, she sighed. "I'm going to go check on Edward, and then we can head back home."

"Is he safe here alone?"

"He should be. Mom will be back from work soon." Pointing toward the door, she slipped me the car keys. "Go ahead. I'll catch up to you in a minute."

It took a little longer than a minute. I sat in the Porsche and listened to the radio for over fifteen minutes, squinting out the window for a glimpse of Alice.

When she did finally step out onto the porch, her smile was gone. Without a word she got in the car, turned the key, and zipped out of the driveway.

I waited until we were out on the highway before I asked, "Is he very angry with you?"

"I wish he was. No, he's hurt, but I'll be back tomorrow to see if I can't smooth things over. Edward is very forgiving. It makes hurting him even worse. I don't want him to stop trusting me like he did with . . . well, like he's done before." We pulled up to the first stoplight just outside of Seattle, and she started to drum her fingers on the steering wheel. "Bella?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know if Dr. Whitlock is taking any new patients right now?"

"I don't know," I replied, startled. "You'll have to ask at the front desk. Are you planning on going in?"

She pressed heavily on the gas, rocketing the car forward. "I've been mulling all this over, and I really believe it would do me some good to have someone impartial to talk to. You don't know what a relief it was to tell you everything about Edward, Bella. I guess it's just built up over the last few years, and I don't like lying to people – especially my friends.

"You've said that Dr. Whitlock knows his stuff, so I was thinking that I might start with him. Maybe if I had you there I wouldn't be so nervous."

"I like the impulse, Alice, but I can't attend your sessions like I do with Rose. I'm assigned to a specific case."

"Oh. Well, at least it would be the same doctor." Alice stomped on the break as we landed a red light before looking at me speculatively. "Would you go with me to set up the appointment? For moral support?"

"I wish I could," I said honestly, "but since I work under Dr. Whitlock, I'm not allowed to refer patients to him. I can go with you to the building, but I can't accompany you into the office or fill out any paperwork. It has to be all your doing."

"I can work with that. You can talk me out of a freak-out before I go in. Do you have the time to do that? I don't want to mess up your schedule again."

"I can make time for it," I promised. "If this is what you think is best for you, Alice, then I'm proud of you for making the first step."

"Thanks, Dr. Phil."

"Like I've never heard that before," I muttered, throwing her a dirty look.

She chuckled. "Eh, you look much better than he does in a dress."

I shook my head. "You are so weird."

Alice swerved to avoid a patch of newly-laid tar on the highway, and for some reason the image of black curtains flashed into my mind's eye. "Why did you pull down the shades when we went into your room?" I asked.

Smiling slightly, she replied, "To make a long story short, Edward's afraid of sunlight."

What was I supposed to say to that?

"You must have noticed how all the windows in the living room had the shades pulled down, didn't you?" she went on casually. "It isn't as in-your-face as it is in my room – one of Mom's designer tricks – but you can't get direct sunlight through them. Or at least that's what Dad says. It looks like there's plenty of sun getting through to me, but it keeps Edward happy."

"What would make him afraid of the sun?" I wondered aloud.

"That's where it gets into the 'long story' bit. Look, can we do this another day? I'd be glad to explain everything, but right now I have a heck of a headache."

I was immediately repentant. "Of course. I'm sorry for hounding you."

"It's alright. I know you're curious. I would be too." She turned off onto my street. "That's why we don't talk about Edward much. People are so curious, and they always want to meet him, like he's a monkey exhibit at the zoo."

"I'm afraid that happens more than we'd like to think; people can be very insensitive to someone who's different. But I disagree with the zoo analogy. He's much better looking than a monkey."

Alice rewarded my feeble attempt at humor with a grin. "I've never seen any red-headed monkeys anyway."

We zipped into the apartment parking lot, and I sat for a minute with Alice, the Porsche idling quietly.

"Will you come to see him again?" she said at last. Her fingers were clenched, white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

I didn't have an answer for her. I didn't know if I would ever have an answer. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." I got out of the car and walked up to the apartment, waiting every second for her to yell at me to stop and give her the straight 'yes' or 'no' she deserved.

She never called me back.

* * *

_A/N: Well, there's Edward. How did he measure up to your expectations? Did he behave like you thought he would? Please drop me a line and let me know!_

* * *


	16. PATTERNS

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PATTERNS

I couldn't stop thinking about Edward. I tried washing dishes and went on a mad cleaning spree in my apartment; I ran around the park with Seth until we were _both_ panting; I even put on rubber gloves and attacked the nasty mildew buildup under the kitchen sink, but nothing seemed to distract me for more than a few minutes at a time.

Realizing that I wasn't going to be able to ignore the situation, I sat down at my ancient computer and waited for it to warm up. Since I had already gotten caught up in this mess, I figured that I had better brush up on my facts.

If you can't beat it, Google it.

'Schizoaffective disorder', I typed. The keywords brought up a variety of medical sites and psychological question forums, but that wasn't what I was looking for. I wanted to know the precise symptoms Edward had and why I hadn't seen any sign of them today; I wanted to know how I could even begin to help when so many other doctors had presumably failed and what exactly Alice believed I was capable of.

I started with the basic question, looking up the medical definition of schizoaffective disorder and its manifesting symptoms. It was difficult to pinpoint an exact answer, as the disease was categorized by a combination of symptoms and every site had a different interpretation of how it differed from related illnesses like bipolar disorder and full-blown schizophrenia.

I was quickly getting nowhere. In desperation, I abandoned the laptop and dug in my closet for the box of old textbooks I had kept. Although I remembered learning about schizophrenia and its various branches, that particular class had been in my second year of college and much of the information I'd memorized had long since been forgotten. I knew enough to guess that Edward's prognosis was not good, not if he'd been treated for the disorder for over five years.

Ah! One of the texts had a full unit on psychosis and common mental illnesses resulting from it. I found schizophrenia easily, as it was the very first item on the list, and a three page article on schizoaffective disorder followed it. I flipped the pages anxiously, reaching for a kitchen notepad and a pencil.

'_Schizoaffective disorder: a psychological condition characterized by both episodic mood disorder and periods of psychosis.' _I jotted down the definition, feeling a little queasy. I'd forgotten that it was more episodic than schizophrenia, and that explained one mystery: Edward really _had_ been having a 'good day.'

I skimmed through the article but I already knew most of the presenting symptoms, as they were very similar to schizophrenia. Manic episodes, depression, hallucinations, delusions, thought disorder, alogia, social withdrawal . . . Edward could have any combination of those afflictions. I wished that I'd looked more carefully at Edward's medical records when Alice had brought them to me; I recalled that the reports had mentioned delusions and manic fits, but beyond that I couldn't say how often they occurred or how severe they were.

Instinctively I reached for my cell phone, intending to call Alice and ask about his official diagnosis, but I paused with my finger on the first button, realizing what I was doing.

I was getting involved.

Putting the phone back like it was burning my fingers, I closed the textbook and went out onto the tiny balcony, hoping the cold air would give me a good shock. This was exactly what I wanted to avoid – I couldn't let myself get wrapped up in Edward's life, not professionally at least. Not only was it borderline unethical, but it was also dangerous. I wasn't an expert. I didn't know what to do to help him, and I certainly wasn't going to put my opinion above his doctors'.

I hated to disappoint Alice, but this was simply something I couldn't give in to. This time she was asking too much.

The high chime of ringing phone brought me back inside, and to my surprise, the caller ID was blinking my mother's name.

As soon as I put the receiver up to my ear, I was blasted with thudding music.

"Hey, baby girl!" Renee sounded like she was shouting over the bass beat, her voice crackling along the line.

"Mom, where are you? I can hardly hear you!"

I listened for a few minutes as she mumbled into the phone and the reception worsened. She must have made it outside or something, because the music died away and I could finally hear her. "Sorry about that, Bella. Phil's training, and the boys always crank the music up. It gives me awful headaches. Speaking of which, are you feeling better? Charlie mentioned that you've been sick. Have you gone in to the doctor's?"

"Mom, that was over two weeks ago," I reminded her. "I'm fine now."

"Oh? I'm always the last to know these things. Did I tell you that Phil's signed on the new house?"

"That's great! When do you get to move in?"

"Let's see . . . the lease was done last Friday, so we should be able to start moving in by the end of the month. Oh, you would love it down here, Bella. The house is so beautiful, and the neighborhood actually has palm trees along the sidewalk, if you can imagine that!" she marveled. "We're so excited; I'll get to do my jogging down by the beach now! Do you think I should buy a bikini?"

I tried not to laugh because I knew the question had been asked in all sincerity. "If you want to, Mom."

"I don't know. I could ask Phil what he thinks. He liked that two-piece I bought last summer ----"

Ugh. Not going there. "Mom," I interrupted, "have you sold the house yet?"

"Bella, we only just bought it!"

This time I _did_ laugh. "No, I meant the one in Phoenix."

"We had an offer last week, but nothing's been finalized," she sighed. "It's such a ratty old place that I'm surprised anyone would want it."

I loved our old house, battered or not. It was strange to think of someone else living there. I hoped the new family would have children, because there was a big swing-set in the backyard that had been a birthday gift from Grandma Marie. It seemed a shame that it would rust and go to waste. I had good memories of Phoenix.

"So, how are you doing, baby?" she asked, when I didn't speak right away. Renee hated long silences. "You're still working for that nice man, aren't you?"

I knew what she was digging for. "If you mean Doctor Whitlock, yes. He's been an excellent teacher."

"I bet he has," she said slyly.

"Mom, please. It's all very professional." I shook my head in disbelief. Only my mother would make sexual innuendo about her daughter's boss. "I've learned a lot about the clinic circuit from him."

"Relax," Renee soothed. "I think you're a bit upright, sweetie. Have you had a vacation yet?"

I sighed. "We just got back from Christmas break."

"You know what? You should come down and stay in the new house with us! We could decorate a room for you and everything."

I was quick to derail that train of thought; I knew my mother would happily spend a bucket of Phil's money to redecorate 'my' room, only to abandon the project halfway through. "No thanks," I told her firmly. "I don't think I'll have the time to fly down right now. I've got a lot of obligations here."

"Where's the fun in working all the time?" she asked. "You're young; have some fun once in a wild. Go to parties, get in some trouble . . . that's all natural for a college kid, Bella. You need to come out of your shell a little."

I don't know why her comment irritated me. Usually I reminded myself that Renee was simply Renee and let it fly. "I don't _need_ to come out of my shell. What I _need_ is a master's degree."

Renee didn't answer, and instantly I regretted snapping at her over an offhand remark. "I'm sorry, that was really rude. Forgive me?"

"Hmm? Sorry, baby, I was catching up on some texts. What was that you said? What was rude?"

"Nothing." I sat down at the table, running my hands along the cover of the psychology textbook. "Mom, can I ask you for some advice? I need someone to bounce a few ideas off of. Can you do that for me?"

"This sounds serious," she teased. "You can ask me anything, Bella."

I wanted someone to tell me what to do so badly, and my mother had once been my best friend. Whimsical and flighty she was, stupid she was not. "I have this problem."

"Boy troubles?"

"Not exactly. Look, I've gotten myself into a situation which could be potentially, well, illegal. Not like selling drugs or prostitution or robbing banks or anything," I amended, knowing how quick Renee's wild imagination was. "It's a technicality, but I'm afraid that it isn't something I should get involved in. Logically I know that; at the same time, I feel obligated to help. Well, not just obligated. I _want_ to help. What do you think I should do?"

The other end of the line was quiet.

"Mom? Are you there?"

Static crackled over the line. "Bella, just a sec. I'm getting another call," my mother announced. "Hang on for a bit, sweetie, and I'll get right back to you." With a click of a button, I was cut off.

I let my head drop to the tabletop, holding the phone up to my ear and cursing whoever had decided to call Renee at such a bad time. There was nothing to do but wait, and fifteen minutes passed before she came back onto the line. "Bella, you'll never guess who that was! Nina called!"

"Who's Nina?"

"Silly, how could you forget her?" she exclaimed. "She made you that pretty charm necklace."

I had a vague recollection of a flaky friend of my mother's who had a fervor for Egyptian religious rites. If I remembered correctly, she had also insisted that she was a reincarnation of Isis and had given me an ankh amulet to ward away evil spirits.

"She's opening a church in Sacramento," Renee gushed. "If it does well enough, she's thinking of branching out, and I might be able to lead a little group here in Jacksonville!"

"Mom, I thought you were a Scientologist now."

I could visualize her noncommittal shrug as she replied, "Not anymore. It's all too stuffy for me. Oh, it looks like Phil's finished up! I'd better run, Bella. Before I go, what was that thing you wanted to talk about?"

I closed my eyes. "Never mind, Mom. Have fun with Phil."

"I will. Love you, baby girl!"

The dial tone buzzing in my ear seemed unnaturally loud before I replaced the phone in its cradle.

* * *

Early on Wednesday morning, I drove Alice to Dr. Whitlock's building. She had insisted on making the trip incognito, and besides using my truck as transportation, she had gone so far as to wear a bulky gray jacket and dark sunglasses.

"This is an appointment, not an espionage mission," I told her as she climbed up into the cab.

"I don't want anyone to recognize me," she said softly, adjusting her glasses. "Thanks for the ride." She leaned back against the seat, away from the window, and fiddled with her seatbelt strap.

"No problem. It's normal to be nervous about your first session, but there's no need to be ashamed."

"Yeah? Tell that to the hacks Edward's gotten saddled with."

"Dr. Whitlock is very professional," I assured her. "He won't do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"Have you decided yet?"

Her question didn't catch me unawares; I'd been expecting it from the moment I parked in front of her flat. "I don't know yet, Alice. I'll have an answer for you by the end of the week."

She pursed her lips but didn't argue.

I was quiet too, concentrating on getting through the crazy midmorning traffic. After spending so much time in the Porsche, I wasn't used to my truck; it felt clunkier and harder to steer than before.

We made it through without any damage, stopping in the deserted rear parking lot. I had been surprised at how expediently Alice had been approved for an appointment – apparently having connections in Seattle's medical community helped – and even more amazed that she had been taken on by Dr. Whitlock himself. I'd assumed that she would be placed with one of his associates since she was related (however distantly) to Rosalie, but the board must not have ruled it a conflict of interest for either party.

Alice didn't get out right away, even though it was barely five minutes until her scheduled time. She was pale and fidgety, gazing fearfully at the office complex. I knew Dr. Whitlock would do right by her, but I could sympathize with her anxiety; I remembered how nervous I'd been going into that office for the first time.

"It'll be fine," I ventured. "I'll be back to pick you up in an hour, okay?"

She swallowed audibly. "Okay." Opening the door, she jumped down to the pavement, tightening her jacket around her.

"His office is the second on the left when you come in the doors. Good luck, Alice."

"Thanks." She shut the door, squared her thin shoulders, and marched toward the building.

I waited until she was inside before I restarted the truck and took off for the Starbucks a few blocks down. I'd brought my laptop along to take advantage of the coffee shop's free wireless connection. While Alice was with Dr. Whitlock, I would do some research of my own.

After finding an empty table in the corner and a hot cup of cappuccino, I booted up my computer and opened the Internet browser. A manilla envelope came out of my bag next, and I took out the packet of papers from inside it, spreading them across the table.

Someone (undoubtedly Alice) had slipped a typed synopsis of Edward's medical records into my mailbox a few days ago. She wasn't at all subtle with her hints, but she knew me too well – it had been terribly difficult to keep myself from seeing what was inside, and as of this morning, I'd given in and opened the package. I felt guilty every time I looked at it, half expecting Dr. Cullen to show up, whisk away the papers, and accuse me of breaking a confidentiality law, but I did find the records useful, particularly the page detailing Edward's current treatment plan.

The Cullens had declined to place him in a rehabilitation hospital, despite many strong recommendations, opting instead to care for him at home. One piece of information caught my eye: Dr. Cullen was listed as his primary physician. Presumably that meant Edward wasn't being treated by anyone except his father. It was an unusual situation, to say the least.

Several anti-psychotic drugs and mood stabilizers were named under his medication chart, but only two were still currently in use: lithium salt and Olanzapine.

I knew that lithium was one of the oldest stabilizers on the market and arguably one of the most dangerous. Taken by a patient who could tolerate it, it had the best and quickest results, but it also came with some especially nasty side effects.

Typing the meds into the search engine produced a few pharmaceutical sites and some government articles. I took some notes, immersing myself in the confusing jargon of the medicinal world. The sheer breadth of information was, once again, overwhelming.

By all accounts, the cocktail of drugs Edward was taking seemed to have a high percentage of success, and surely if he had had adverse effects, Dr. Cullen would have found another solution for him by now. Presumably Edward was reacting well with the lithium, seeing that he was still on it. Why then, according to Alice, did he still have uncontrolled episodes?

At least, I assumed that's what she was implying. She'd never actually given me a straight answer about Edward's condition . . . .

My cell buzzed, and, expecting another call from Renee, I opened it reluctantly. It wasn't my mother – it was a voice mail from a number I didn't recognize. I played it curiously.

"Hi, Bella. It's Sam Uley. I haven't heard from you since the party . . . Hope I didn't step on your feet too much. Um, anyway, if you'd like to go out for coffee or breakfast or something, that'd be great . . . Anytime you want, just let me know. Catch you later. Bye."

I replayed the message once before deleting it. I would have to call him back sometime tonight; I'd be too busy to go anywhere, but I didn't want to brush him off. Pocketing the phone, I turned back to the computer screen.

Nothing else distracted me for the remainder of the hour, and I ended up with three pages of notes by the time I finally packed up and headed over to pick up Alice.

She was standing on the outside steps when I arrived, her coat slung over her arm but the sunglasses still firmly in place. She wasn't white as a sheet anymore; when she got into the truck, I noticed that her cheeks were flushed.

"Everything okay?" I had to ask.

Alice nodded. "I made another appointment for next week."

She didn't go on, which honestly surprised me; I expected her to rave about how gorgeous Dr. Whitlock was or something like that. I felt a bit embarrassed by my own assumptions. Perhaps I was underestimating her.

"Not nervous anymore?" I spoke just for the sake of making sound; the silence was too strange for Alice.

"No." She looked over at me. "This was a good idea. I think . . . I think it'll help."

I smiled, relieved. "I think so too. Dr. Whitlock is a good man."

"He is," she murmured, and that was the end of our conversation.

The truck backfired once as I steered it into the apartment lot. Before she closed the car door, Alice had one more thing to say. "Edward?"

"End of the week," I repeated. "I promise."

She closed the door and walked up the path to her building, and I drove home. End of the week. Saturday. That was three days away, and I still didn't have the faintest idea what I was going to do.

* * *

_A/N: First off, my apologies for posting this a week late. I also need to beg pardon for the decided lack of Edward in this chapter -- don't worry, he'll be in the next one. Thank you to all of you who read, review, and/or PM! I so appreciate your patience and support, especially when I miss my deadlines. ; ) _

_Lots of love to my amazing beta SR Devaste!_

_

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	17. WINDOWS AND DOORS

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WINDOWS AND DOORS

Taking a steadying breath, I climbed up the staircase to the Cullens' front porch and paused in front of the door.

I knew Alice was somewhere on the other side, just waiting for me to knock. I'd called her this morning to see if it was safe for me to visit; she hadn't said anything more than an assurance that the house would be empty – she was 'babysitting' Edward today – and that I was more than welcome to come.

Not knowing what to do, I'd driven out the suburbs with no idea of exactly where I was headed. Inevitably I'd ended up on the Cullens' property, and here I was, standing in front of the closed door and waiting for a bolt of divine wisdom.

The last few days had been hell. I was a hesitant person, and the weight of this decision was unbearable; every other part of my life was suffering from my constant distraction and anxiety, and I couldn't wait any longer.

Lifting up the knocker, I let it fall, flinching at the dull thud it made. Hardly ten seconds passed before the door opened.

"Hello, Bella," Alice said softly, stepping back so I could come in. When I moved past her, she shut the door and looked at me expectantly.

"Where's Edward?" was all I said.

Her reserved expression crumbled into a myriad of conflicting emotions: relief, trepidation, gratitude, fear. "He's upstairs in his room. Follow me."

I stuck close to her side as we went up the stairs. "I thought he didn't like people coming into his room," I whispered.

"He's not in any condition to come downstairs right now," she replied. "We'll have to hope that he won't mind. Just don't touch him or move his stuff around and he should be fine." She stopped and turned to face me, one foot perched on the first step of the third-floor staircase. "Bella, this isn't one of his better days, okay? Don't let him know that you see the difference. He can tell, and it upsets him."

"What sort of differences?'

"You'll see." She started moving again, her speed increasing with every step. "I'm glad you came today. It'll give you a chance to see how he . . . how he is sometimes."

I stopped dead on the landing. In contrast to the rooms just below it, the third floor was stark and empty, a mismatched oddity in a house full of warm colors and Esme's beautiful furnishings. The walls were white-washed, stripped of any paintings or pictures to break up the monotony. There were several doors on either side of me, but each one was firmly closed, painted pearl-gray to match the ceiling. It took me a second to realize that the entire floor reminded me of a hospital: white, clean, immaculate, and bare of any unnecessary decorations.

The floorboards were carpeted, and my shoes sank into the plush material as I followed Alice tentatively down the hall. She stepped up to the last door on the right and pushed it open; I peered over her shoulder, my pulse racketing up. Before I caught much more than a glimpse of it, she closed the door again. "Edward is in the music room right now, but I wanted you to see this. I need you to understand."

It was a small room, fitted out in a military fashion with only a plain four-poster bed and a sink and toilet in the corner. There was something abnormal about it, and only when Alice flicked on the lights did it occur to me that the room was completely windowless. The only light came from the overhead lamp.

"We call this the 'panic room'." Alice's voice drifted over to me; she stayed just inside the doorway, watching my reactions. "He's usually in here when he has a bad spell."

"The window?" I couldn't help but ask.

She frowned. "It makes him feel safer. Plus, Dad wanted to make sure that there wasn't a single thing Edward could hurt himself with."

"Does . . . does he have suicidal tendencies?"

"No, thank God, but we've heard the stories. Dad likes to take the cautious route. Come on, let's find Edward. He's probably wondering where I went."

Directly across the hall was another door; Alice turned the knob and swung it wide.

This room was the antithesis of the cell-like compartment next door. It was a huge space, light and airy. These walls were also tinted white, but the shade was calming, vaguely cheerful. A glossy grand piano stood in one corner, framed by ceiling-to-floor shelves of CDs and sheet music. An extensive stereo system dominated the opposite wall, grouped next to a cluster of chairs and a black leather couch, and that's where I spotted Edward. Only then did I fully comprehend Alice's meaning.

He was a different person entirely, a pale imitation of the man I'd met four days ago. The circles beneath his eyes were shocking, two crescent-shaped bruises standing out against his sheet-white skin. He was nervous, jittery, his head jerking from the window to Alice and I and then back to the window in a bizarre pattern. Despite the quick movements of his head and eyes, he was sedentary, his body draped bonelessly across the sofa.

"Edward, we're here," Alice called out softly from the doorway. "May we come in?"

He rolled over at the sound of her voice, interested enough to pull his attention away from the window. I noticed that he was wearing a thick gray sweater, even though the temperature in the house was quite warm.

"This is my friend Bella, Edward." Alice stepped aside so he could fix his eyes directly on me. I saw a glimmer of recognition in his face.

"Hello, Edward." I dared to come a few feet into the room; his body tensed, but he didn't move from the couch.

"Bella," he murmured. "Bella's yelling."

I shot a look over at Alice; she shrugged, looking as mystified as I felt. "Am I speaking too loudly, Edward?" I took care to lower my voice.

He shook his head jerkily. "No. He was yelling at me." His eyes screwed shut in frustration. "I wasn't allowed to. I broke the rules and saw the room. I saw the monster, I did! I said sorry."

I was momentarily stunned at the contrast between Edward's smooth, articulate speech of last week and this childish chatter. Alice, however, was already walking over to the sofa, scowling.

"Did Dad come up here to talk to you?" she asked urgently. "Did he know that Bella was here last Saturday?"

I was still trying to sort out the jumble, but then it hit me. "Was your father angry at you for coming into my room?" I blurted, appalled that Dr. Cullen would reprimand him. "I forgave you already, Edward. I'm not mad at you."

He didn't seem to hear either Alice or me. His attention was fixed back on the window, where a few birds had congregated on the feeder hanging from the sill. He smiled, humming lightly under his breath, and pointed at the robin perched on the top of the feeder. "Look, Alice."

"I see it," she said, stepping around me to join him. She sat on the very edge of the cushion, as far as possible from his prone body. "It's very beautiful. It's too bad that we can't let it inside so you can see it up close."

Edward shook his head, his unkempt hair brushing against his forehead. "I wouldn't like that. It belongs outside. So do you."

I didn't have the slightest idea what he meant, but Alice looked stricken.

He cast his eyes over toward me; I stilled underneath his curious stare. "You're Alice's friend."

"Yes, I am. We've been friends for a while now."

"Why are you here?"

It wasn't said in an accusatory tone, so I decided to risk it and come closer. His eyes widened a little, but he didn't shift away or tell me to leave, so I walked forward until I was level with Alice. "I wanted to visit you," I said, knowing that honesty would be best. Somehow, I sensed that he would be able to tell if I was lying to him. "I'm hoping to become a friend of yours too, if you'll let me."

"I don't think you'd want that." He watched the robin fly away from the sill; from this vantage point, I could now see that the windowpane was made out of some thick, tinted glass – it was almost like looking through a pair of sunglasses.

Afraid of the sun . . . I wondered if the windows actually blocked out the light, since the room itself was well illuminated.

"Edward, what happened to your music?" Alice exclaimed, drawing my attention to the piano. Several books had been tossed carelessly to the floor, their spines bent and cracked.

He followed the direction of her pointing index finger, and when he saw the mess, he grimaced. "Don't know."

Sighing, Alice crouched down to clean up. I took her place on the couch, and immediately he turned to me. He stared at me for a long minute, his gaze absolutely unwavering. I tried not to squirm. "It doesn't make sense," he mumbled to himself, his expression opening into a look of awe. "Impossible."

"What's impossible?"

"It doesn't make sense," he insisted. Before I registered his movements, he sat up and touched my face. I stiffened, hardly breathing; the shuffling noises over by the piano stopped.

Edward's long fingers ghosted across my forehead, tickling the ends of my bangs and probing gently at my temples. It didn't hurt, and his posture wasn't threatening, so I kept quiet and let him explore.

He withdrew after a few seconds, his eyes bright with amazement. "I can't hear you."

First I was yelling, and now I was too silent? I was at a loss to know what to think. Quick footsteps approached us, and Alice appeared by my side.

"Not at all?" she asked, subtly reaching around to nudge my shoulder. Whether it was a gesture of support or a silent warning, I didn't know.

"Not at all," he confirmed, reaching toward me again before thinking the better of it and letting his hands fall back into his lap. "What does it mean?"

I looked to Alice, hoping for some answers, but she seemed as confused as he was. "I don't know, Edward. Perhaps if you told Dad ---- "

"No."

She immediately started to backpedal. "I never said you had to. It was just a suggestion."

"Don't tell him, Alice," he begged, every word rising in volume. "He can't know."

It took a few minutes of soothing for him to calm down, and I went over to the piano to give them some privacy. The baby grand was an exquisite instrument, lovingly kept in perfect condition and shined to a diamond-bright finish. Remembering Alice's warning, I kept my hands to myself.

"Bella." It was Edward's voice, and I whipped around in surprise, hoping I hadn't trespassed too much. "Do you like my piano?" He sounded eager, like a proud father with an opportunity to show off his new baby.

I smiled. "It's a very lovely piano, Edward."

"It was a present," he informed me. "I've had it since I was sixteen."

"It would be wonderful to hear you play it sometime."

His face fell. "I can't. I'm sorry."

I tried to assure him that it didn't matter, but Alice shook her head surreptitiously at me and I promptly shut my mouth.

"Can I play for you another time?" he asked hopefully. "I can play for you when it's safer."

"I would love that. What do you mean, 'safer'?" I saw Alice's alarmed expression just one second too late.

"You're one of _them!"_ he cried, the words dripping with suspicion. "That's why – that's why I can't hear you!" His indignation stirred him enough to allow him to slip off the couch and brace himself behind it, putting a barrier between us. "Why do you want to hurt me?" He jerked his head toward his sister. "You keep bringing them to get me, Alice, and_ I don't want them_."

Shit. I quickly retreated, hoping that putting distance between us would settle him down.

"She isn't here to get you," Alice said slowly, not budging from her seat despite the fact that her brother was towering over her. "Please sit down, honey. No one's going to hurt you. Bella is my friend."

After a few seconds of fidgeting, he sat down next to her, throwing me an angry glare. She laid a gentle hand on his arm; he cringed away.

My mind was racing, trying to decide how I could fix this. "Edward, I want to tell you the truth."

His natural politeness seemed to be at war with his fear. "The truth?"

"Yes, the truth. I am a student of psychology . . ." I wasn't sure if he was in any condition to recognize the word, but the low snarl he directed toward me said that he understood all too well, ". . . but I am not one of _them_," whatever 'them' was, "and I would never try to hurt you. You know that Alice wouldn't let anyone do anything bad to you."

"Wouldn't you like to have Bella come up and visit you?" Alice squeezed his arm and this time he didn't flinch. "I know you've wanted someone else to talk to. You could talk to Bella."

He paused, his expression unguarded, and I saw a hint of pure loneliness. "You won't ask questions," he demanded of me.

"I can't promise that because I want to learn about you, but I won't make you answer anything you don't want to answer. You can ask me questions too if you'd like. Is that fair?" I waited anxiously for any sign that I was on the right track; Alice was just as tense.

Edward considered the deal for a few minutes. "I get to tell you when to stop."

"Of course you do," I said. "I want to respect your feelings, so you tell me whenever I'm bothering you."

"You won't . . . you won't do anything else?"

I knew this was dangerous ground. "What else would I do?"

"I don't want to say."

"That's fine." It was a perfect chance to prove that I meant what I said. "You don't have to tell me."

His look of surprise was laughable, but it made me feel sick too. Obviously he had bad experiences with some very aggressive therapists who didn't know when to let up. Who had pushed him so far that he was afraid of talking about himself?

"Would you like me to visit again? Please be honest, Edward." As much as Alice begged me to help, I had no intention of forcing my company on him. If he didn't want me here, I wasn't going to come back.

"I wouldn't mind," he said tentatively, curling back onto the couch, "if you want to see me."

The tension immediately melted from the room. "I do. I'm looking forward to hearing you play your piano."

His smile was shy and sweet. "I'll play for you. I like you."

"Thank you. I like you too, Edward." And it was the honest-to-God truth. I _did_ like him. The realization shocked me a little.

Something beeped, and Alice reached into her pocket and took out her cell. "It's noon," she announced.

Edward's reaction was instantaneous: his upper lip curled as he crammed his body back against the sofa, far away from his sister. There was something catlike, almost feral, in the way he moved, the way he watched her suspiciously with half-slit eyes.

Alice simply got up and headed for the door. "Bella, why don't you come with me for a minute? We'll be right back, Edward."

"Perhaps I'd better just go for now," I said, thinking that he had had enough stress for one day. "I'll see you later, Edward."

Again he didn't seem to hear me, lost in a place where no one could reach him. I hesitated a moment before leaving him, the image of his defensive stance and frightened eyes burned permanently into my brain.

"Next time you should come in the afternoon," Alice told me as we parted ways at the front door. "He takes his meds at twelve, and it's always a fight at first. He hates it, but at least he's willing to take them."

"Are you okay here alone?"

"He's never been violent with me," Alice said seriously. "Never. Not even on his worst days."

I glanced back at the staircase, feeling a strong urge to go back upstairs. "When do you want me to come back?"

"I'll call you. I know Mom's new client is going to take up her Saturdays for about the next two months, but I might be working on the weekends. I'll see if I can't switch around some days with Kate, and I can probably do some finagling with Em too. I'll call."

If I'd thought that meeting Edward would relieve all my pent-up anxiety, I'd been sorely mistaken. Two personal interactions with him had been all it took to get me wrapped up in his life, and I was very much afraid that I might never be able to untangle myself.


	18. MIND OVER MATTER

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MIND OVER MATTER

When Rose stormed into Dr. Whitlock's office that next day, I knew we were in for some trouble.

"Good afternoon, Rosalie," the doctor said, impeccably polite as always.

She muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath and flopped into the chair. A canvas bag was slung over one shoulder, and she let it slide to the floor, where it thumped loudly against the tile.

"I see you brought your supplies," he remarked. "Good. I wasn't sure that you'd received my message, seeing that you never returned my call."

"Must have been a fluke," she said sulkily. "Next time don't call my cell."

Dr. Whitlock rubbed his chin. "Funny. I seem to recall you telling me to use the cell because your home answering machine wasn't working."

She didn't bat an eye. "Guess it slipped my mind."

"Bella, will you kindly clear off that table and bring it over here?" Dr. Whitlock pointed to a round table pressed up against the wall. After swiping off a few papers and magazines, I carried it over to his desk.

The doctor was rummaging through his drawers, but he glanced up as I retook my seat. "Thank you. Rosalie, lay out your things on that table, please."

Glaring at him the whole while, she grudgingly removed several leather-bound photo albums from the canvas bag, stacking on top of each other with rather more force than necessary. Dr. Whitlock hefted up a plastic grocery sack, from which he pulled a jar of paste and an old-fashioned scrapbook. He slid them onto the table with Rose's albums.

It didn't take long for her to connect two and two. "Scrapbooking? You want me to do scrapbooking? Who the hell do you think I am? You can't be serious."

"I am serious, Rosalie, but I'm not asking you to scrapbook." Dr. Whitlock opened the empty album and slid it toward her. "I'm asking you to choose your favorite pictures from your collection and put them all together in this book." He tapped the blank page. "This will be a record of your life."

"So basically I'll be scrapbooking. Well, bring on the glue guns and glitter, Whitlock. I think reverting back to kindergarten Craft Time willreallyfix me up. Great idea."

He ignored her. "Put in any pictures you like, in any order or combination, and I want you to tell me a story for each one."

"Oh, we get Story Time too?" Rosalie folded her arms across her chest. "Can we have a Snack Time later?"

"There's no need for sarcasm," he said calmly. "It may seem juvenile to you, but I'm asking you to do it all the same."

Her icy silence spoke volumes, but Dr. Whitlock wasn't discouraged. Picking up one of her albums, he held it out to her. "Here, Bella and I will help you get started. Isn't that right, Bella?"

I snapped to attention. "I'd be happy to help."

"Don't bother," Rosalie sniffed. "I've taken apart entire engines and put them back together in working condition in under two hours. I think I can handle this by myself." She snatched the book from his hands.

I suspected that Dr. Whitlock wanted to laugh – I certainly did – but he concealed it admirably. "We'll leave this project to you, then," he told her. "I would like to see at least three pages when we meet again next Thursday. Is that fair?"

Rosalie was already jamming the supplies into her bag, as if eager to get them out of her sight. "Don't condescend to me. I'll get it done."

"I apologize, Rosalie. I look forward to seeing what you choose."

When the session was over, I lingered behind, curious about the scrapbook technique.

"Rosalie was right in the sense that it_ is_ juvenile," Dr. Whitlock admitted to me, chuckling lightly. "I learned it from a child therapist I once worked with. The purpose is to let the pictures spark memories for Rosalie, both good and bad. Making an entirely new album out of all her old ones allows her to choose which parts of her life she wants to document and remember. It's all a bit symbolic, I suppose."

"I like it," I told him. "It's fitting for her – a chance to start over."

Dr. Whitlock shook his head. "Starting over means letting go of every part of who we were before. Rosalie is who she is partly because of what happened to her as a child, and if she lets go of that, she loses a part of herself that is very important to her." He smiled absently, studying the view from his tiny window. "It's learning to cope with the bad as well as the good and using that experience to reshape our future. If we start with a clean slate, we've learned nothing."

"I never thought about it that way."

"I'm hoping that her stories will give us more insight into her life as well. She's a very complex young woman." He tipped his head back against the chair and sighed. "I confess that at times I don't quite know what to do with her."

That was news to me. He always seemed to so implacably calm and confident. I said as much, and he laughed.

"Everything in life is about keeping up appearances. One of the unofficial prerequisites of your degree is the ability to develop a good poker face." Dr. Whitlock shrugged. "We feel what we feel, but we don't show it. I suppose that's why we've such a reputation for being cold and impersonal."

"There's a difference between being composed and being cold."

"Mmm." He tapped his fingers along the armrests, looking thoughtful. "Too bad I can't play poker to save my life."

* * *

I hadn't known what sort of mood I would find Edward in today. Alice called early to tell me that her parents would both be out until dinnertime, and I hadn't had the opportunity to ask how Edward was doing before she hung up on me. The entire situation reeked of reconnaissance secrecy, and the thought that I was deceiving Esme and Dr. Cullen only made me feel guiltier.

We found Edward in his music room, sedately tinkering with the piano. He hadn't heard us come in, and I held back, mesmerized by the soft, tender melody and the arch of his hands over the ivory keys.

Beautiful.

Alice nudged me to get me moving; I jerked out of the doorway, flustered, and she gave me a conspiratorial wink as she passed by to join her brother. _Dammit. _

"Good morning," she sang. "Do you mind if Bella and I hang out with you today?"

Edward looked at me, his fingers suspended, forgotten, over the keys. I waited nervously for his reaction, knowing that he might very well ask me to leave. The Edward I had befriended two days ago was not the same Edward who was sitting in front of me now. _This_ was the Edward I had first met – the 'original' Edward.

Cripes, I was confusing myself just thinking about it.

"Hello, Bella," he said at last, letting his hands fall against his knees. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. You?" I wasn't sure what this polite little exchange was about, but I indulged him.

"I've been better." He seemed tired and pale, as though once again a good night's rest had eluded him, but he wasn't jittery today. "You can come in if you like."

"Thank you," I replied in equally formal tones. Careful to put some distance between us, I positioned myself a few feet behind his piano.

"I'm going to get some coffee," Alice announced cheerfully. "I'll be back in a sec." She tapped her brother's shoulder. "Play nice, Edward." With a significant nod toward me, she went out into the hall, shutting the door behind her.

We listened to her footsteps fade, and the room was abruptly still.

Edward put his hands back on the keyboard and played random notes which he somehow managed to make musically cohesive. "So, Bella," he began, "where are your things?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Your tape recorders. You know, your notebooks and cameras and Rorschach tests. I hope you didn't forget them."

For a moment, his anger sparked an answering frustration in me. Why did he insist on believing I was out to harm him? _Because he doesn't have a damn clue about who you really are, and for all he knows, you could be taking advantage of Alice too. Be sensible, Bella -- you're a stranger to him, and if anyone has a reason to distrust strangers, he does . . . _"I'm not here to force you into anything," I murmured, feeling a little guilty for my overreaction. "We talked about this last Saturday. Do you remember?"

"I'm not stupid," he said softly. "I remember."

I struggled to come up with something to say that didn't sound overly defensive. "So you think I'm lying to you?"

The words seemed petty to my own ears, and Edward wasn't impressed. His dark eyes were measuring, contemplative as he watched me rock awkwardly from heel to toe. "I think you're trying to be a friend to Alice and do a good deed in the process. I can respect that. I can't respect you if you're using me as a public service project."

"Does everyone have to have an ulterior motive?"

"In my scope of experience, yes. If you're the exception to the rule, I'd be delighted to hear it."

"I can't say that I'm the absolute exception," I said, "but I would like to think that I can be honest with you. Alice is my friend, and as her brother, you're a part of her life. She didn't tell me about you, and I didn't offer to approach you. It just so happens that she became good friends with a psychologist. It's her poor luck -- you said she had bad taste in friends, remember."

He cracked a smile despite himself; a slight half-smile but a smile nonetheless. "Glad to hear that Alice didn't hire you out. But I'll reiterate: I don't need your help."

"Just my help or anyone's help?"

Edward's smile faded. "Look, I know what's wrong with me. I know it and I accept it. I don't _like_ it, but I accept it."

Ugh, the eternal argument. "You don't have to accept anything; you're still young, you're physically fit and healthy ---"

"And I don't have a steady job, a college degree, or a home of my own," he finished smoothly. "I'd much prefer that you call me self-pitying and delusional than pretend like everything's great. Sunny enthusiasm doesn't do the job here -- you have no idea, no _concept_, of what it's like . . ." He exhaled heavily and stared down at the keys. "I don't like arguing with you. Can we talk about something else?"

I took a moment to breathe; this was enough for now. "Like what?" I sat down on the arm of the sofa, close enough to him that I could see the notes on his sheet music.

"The weather?" he suggested, his lip twisting up into a smirk that would have irritated me had it been on any face but Edward's.

"Well, it's raining. Again." I smiled, thinking of my father's catch-phrase. "How 'bout them Mariners?"

He shrugged. "I haven't watched a game for months. That's Emmett's territory."

"My father used to watch them religiously," I explained. "Safeco Field is his Mecca. One of his friends got tickets for the championship last year, and they went down together. I'd never seen Charlie so worked up over something."

"I used to play baseball – Little League. I liked it, but not enough to continue past eighth grade."

"Well, you stuck it out longer than I did, Edward. Renee got it into her head that I should take ballet lessons, and I only lasted a few months." I'd hated it from the beginning, but Renee steadfastly held to her dream of my becoming a talented dancer until the ballet instructor herself had diplomatically suggested that I might find another studio more compatible with my needs.

"Who's Renee?" Edward asked.

"My mom. She lives in Phoenix – well, actually she's in Jacksonville with my stepfather now. Charlie's my dad; he's the police chief in Forks."

"I've been there before." He played a quick scale, the motion seeming almost unconscious. "We passed through a few times. It's a nice town."

'Nice' wasn't the adjective I would have chosen – 'quaint' or 'rainy' seemed more appropriate – but I appreciated the courtesy. "There are worse places to grow up. I never minded it once I was living at the house full-time."

He laughed. "So you were living somewhere else part-time?"

"Stupid phrasing, sorry." I felt my cheeks getting hot. "I lived in Phoenix until I was seventeen, and then I moved to Washington to stay with Charlie."

Edward shifted awkwardly on the piano bench. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

My hands fluttered up to my face to hide the evidence. "You didn't. I just blush really easily. It's not anything you said."

"I'm sorry all the same."

"Do you always apologize for things that aren't your fault?" I had to ask.

He dipped back on the bench, gripping the wooden lid to keep himself upright. "A bad habit, I guess. So, we've covered sports and the weather. What's next?"

"Politics."

"I can't say that I've been very involved in the political process lately. You?"

"I'm a militant feminist," I teased. "I'm pretty middle of the road. Come to think of it, I haven't been doing my patriotic duty too well either. The last time I did anything political was when my best friend dragged me a Gore rally. Jake was a hard-core conservationist."

"A worthy cause," Edward remarked.

I shrugged. "I might have appreciated it more if Jake hadn't insisted on hiking around the wilderness to show me the evils of logging and construction."

There was a faraway look in his eyes. "I'd love to go hiking again. Our family used to go camping and hiking every summer in the Rockies."

The question came to me before I could think it over. "How long has it been since you've been to the mountains?"

He stiffened up, and too late I realized what I was doing.

"Never mind. Forget I asked." Standing up, I wandered over to the window, ostensibly to see the view but for the purpose of giving him some space. "The last time we met you said that you might be willing to play a song for me. Would you?"

He quirked his head to the left, as if listening to something. After a pause, he nodded. "What would you like to hear?"

I wasn't a classical music aficionado, and I didn't know Handel from Haydn. "Play one of your favorites for me."

Edward shuffled a few books around until he found the one he wanted. Propping it up against the shelf, he put his hands to the keys. "This is Scarlatti's _Sonata in D minor_," he murmured, the end of his sentence overwhelmed by the dramatic opening stanza.

As he played, I drifted unconsciously toward him, reeled in by the endless cascade of music and the gentle, hypnotic sway of his body. I didn't have to be a musician to recognize the thrall that Edward was under at the piano – the song overtook him, captured him, controlled him. I didn't think he was even aware that I was standing at his shoulder.

His eyes had drifted shut, dark eyelashes fluttering with the louder notes, his lips parting when the sound crescendoed. He was amazing to listen to, but extraordinary to watch – there was something so intensely personal about it that I felt like I was spying in on a private moment.

Swept in by the sounds and images, my own eyelids dropped and I was almost sleepy, sleepy but somehow energized.

And then the music came to a crashing, discordant halt.

My eyes flew open. Edward was bent-double over the piano, his forehead grazing the keys, and he was gasping.

Running on instinct, I grabbed his arms and jerked him upright. He let me move him, almost completely motionless in my hands. I lifted his chin, calling his name softly, and saw that he had broken out in a cold sweat, his face contorted with agony.

I held him next to me on the bench, supporting his limp body, and screamed for Alice. There was no answer, and I tried not to get worked up, reassuring myself that Edward was still conscious and breathing. I pressed my fingers to his throat, where his pulse was throbbing erratically. He was heavier than he looked, and he kept sliding down toward the floor. I screamed again before giving up and letting us both sink to the carpet.

What was happening? I slapped his cheek, shook his shoulders, but there was no response but a quiet groan.

"Edward! Edward, can you hear me? Where does it hurt?" I put my mouth directly to his ear. "Edward!"

His body jerked, and he stirred at last, hands coming up to clutch at his head. I held tight to his waist, urging him to shift so he was laying down on the floor.

Where the hell was Alice? It didn't take an hour to get coffee unless she was picking it up in Kyrgyzstan!

I slid up onto my knees, thinking that I could run downstairs and find her, but Edward started to groan, fingers clutching convulsively in his hair. I stroked his tense hands, hoping to soothe him. "Edward, are you okay? Talk to me."

His eyes were screwed shut, his face a mask of pain. "Stop it, stop it, stopitstopitstopit. Hurts. It _hurts! Fucking stop it!_" He sobbed, jerking the fistfuls of hair so hard I was terrified that he was going to rip them out. "Make it stop! I don't want to listen -- yell, too loud, _too much _. . . Please please _please_ . . . STOP!"

The gasping fear in his voice punched me in the chest, and I patted his shoulder desperately, trying to bring him out of whatever nightmare he was in. "It's me, Bella Swan. I'm here, Edward. No one's doing anything to you. Please wake up. Look at me -- see me. I'm right here, Edward. No one else is in here with us. You're okay, Edward, you're safe."

Edward's head lolled backwards, and he opened his eyes to stare blankly at the ceiling for a long moment. He blinked and then noticed me hovering over him. "Bella."

"Are you alright?" I brushed the sweat-matted hair out of his face. "Do you need anything? Maybe you should keep still for a while."

He scrubbed a hand across his face. "No, I'm fine. Give me a minute."

There was a bottle of water on the table, and I brought it over to him. He smiled weakly at me before taking a few sips. "Thank you."

"Edward, what happened back there? Do you need to take something?"

"No. I just . . . I don't know what to say, I . . ." His hands were shaking. "What . . . what did I say?"

"I . . . You said someone was yelling."

He moaned, tucking his ashen face behind his hands. "Oh, God."

"Has someone been hurting you?" I couldn't help it -- if someone was really hurting him, to hell with all my promises of secrecy.

"No," he said, with a vehemence that caught me off guard. "No one's hurting me. I . . . it's all in my head. It's not real, I know it's not. It's not. _It's not_."

"Okay," I said cautiously. "What's in your head?"

"You're not going to believe me. I'm not crazy. I'm not." An edge of hysteria sliced into his denial. "I hear -- the things I hear . . . I'm not crazy." He tried to sit up, and I pushed him carefully back down.

"Stay where you are. I don't want you getting up and falling."

It took some convincing, but I finally got him to lie back and rest. He drank a little more water and I opened the window to let in a blast of cool air. Within a few minutes the color was returning to his face.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," he said, when his could speak clearly again. With my help, he got up and settled carefully back on the piano bench. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You don't have to apologize."

"Sometimes I sort of . . . panic. I ought to be used to it by now, but I didn't think it would happen today."

"It's alright, Edward." He was looking so humiliated that I felt my own face burn in response. "I'm just glad that you're okay."

A clatter from the doorway startled both of us; Alice, clutching two coffees, waltzed inside the room, grinning obliviously. "Hey, guys. Got your hyper juice right here."

I glanced over at Edward, who was clearly rattled. "Alice, I think I need to head back to my place. I still have some papers to write."

Her face fell. "Oh, already? I suppose we can let you go for now."

Taking a risk, I touched the back of Edward's hand carefully, a brief touch, but I hoped he would understand. "I'll see you later."

He smiled at me uncertainly. "See you, Bella. Thanks for everything."

"I'll walk you out," Alice said, handing Edward one of the steaming cups. "Don't drink too much, or you'll never sleep tonight."

When we stepped out onto the driveway where my truck was parked, I decided it was safe enough to speak my mind. "Alice, where _were_ you?"

Her forehead wrinkled. "Sorry?"

"You were gone for a long time," I explained, trying to sound casual. "You said you were just going to get some coffee."

"Oh, that." She swung around, leaning against my open car window. "I dropped some things off at our neighbor's house since you and Edward were getting along so well. Mrs. Mallory is running a charity drive with Mom next month, and there were a few boxes that I needed to bring over. I didn't think you'd mind."

My temper snapped. "Well, I _did_ mind!"

She drew away from the window, shocked. "Why? What happened? Did Edward do something?"

Edward probably wouldn't appreciate me telling his sister, but his family needed to know. I didn't know how serious these episodes were or what the Cullens did to help afterward. "He collapsed, Alice -- I think he was having some sort of anxiety attack or something."

Alice's mouth dropped open. "Shit!"

"He's okay," I added quickly. "It only took a minute to bring him around, but it was scary, and I didn't know what to do for him." I sucked in a calming breath. "I'm here because I want to help, but we need to lay down a few ground rules, okay? I'm not automatically an expert in dealing with Edward's emergencies because I'm studying psychology. I could do something to hurt him by accident."

Alice looked crushed. I regretted being so sharp, but what had happened today could have been serious. "I know it must be hard on you too. Just don't leave out of the blue like that, please. Please, Alice. At least let me know first." I fired up the engine and buckled my seatbelt. Alice backed away from the window.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I can't imagine -- dammit, I thought he wasn't having those anymore."

Somehow I managed to smile at her. "It's all forgiven. Call me when we can meet again."

Home had never appealed to me more; I needed space and silence to understand what had just happened. As the truck rumbled down the drive, I happened to glance into the rearview mirror, and what I saw gave me the chills. Up on the third floor, Edward stood at the window, his hands pressed up against the glass.

* * *

**END OF PART ONE**

**

* * *

**A/N:_ Okay, that's it for Pt. 1 -- there will be either two or three parts total; I haven't completely decided how I'm going to split it up. I know it seems like I'm heaping all these extra problems on poor Ed, but trust me, they're all interrelated . . . _

_Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter! I love hearing your thoughts on the story._


	19. DOCTOR JAZZ

**PART TWO**

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DOCTOR JAZZ

"This is amazing." I plucked a random CD from the shelf, admiring the glossy cover art. "You practically have your own music store here."

Edward glanced up from the sofa, where he was busily arranging some loose sheets of music into binders. "I suppose I do," he laughed. "I've always loved music, and people just started buying it for me. I've ended up with more than I know what to do with."

I studied the racks of plastic cases, organized neatly by genre and in alphabetical order. Every edge was lined up perfectly, not a speck of dust in sight. "Well, it's pretty impressive. Have you listened to all of them?" I replaced the CD, taking care to align it with its neighbors.

Edward nodded. "I usually play them as soon as I get them. Is there one you'd like to hear now?"

"I wouldn't know where to start . . ."

"You like jazz, don't you, Bella?" Alice piped up. She put down the sewing needle she was using to hem her skirt and pointed to the lowest shelf. "All the jazz and blues are down there."

After a few seconds of browsing, I chose one. "Is Ella Fitzgerald okay?"

"She's one of my favorites," Edward said. "Hand it to me; I'll pop it in." Deftly he leaned over the sofa and slipped the CD into his stereo. The mellow crooning of Ella's voice filled the room, a pleasant background noise. I settled next to Alice to listen.

It was relaxing, being surrounded by the soothing sound of shuffling paper and light jazz broken only by the occasional swearword when Alice pricked her finger. I tried to place the feeling, but it only came to me when I looked at Edward's blissful face.

Comfort. Companionship. That's what it was. Comfortable like a familiar routine, an old habit.

And in a way, it _was_ a habit. I'd been coming regularly to the Cullens' house for almost a month now. Esme worked out of the house three afternoons a week, but Dr. Cullen had the night shift for at least one of them, so we had to time the visits carefully.

So far the deception had gone undetected, though that didn't make me any happier about the situation. I didn't know whether Alice had warned Edward to keep his silence, but he hadn't told his parents about my presence either.

There had been a few near misses when Esme came home earlier than Alice expected, and I was growing more nervous about the possibility of getting caught with each successive week. Alice scoffed at my fear.

"Come on, Bella," she'd told me once. "No one knows about this except us. Em won't tell. He wants you here as much as I do. I've never seen Edward so excited about having a visitor. He likes you. You cheer him up. Besides, I know you like being here too."

I couldn't deny that; the more time I spent with Edward, the stronger his pull on me became. "But we can't keep this up forever, Alice. Your parents aren't stupid. They're bound to find out eventually, and then what?"

"They haven't found out so far," she said smugly. "Mom and I are around Edward more than Dad is anyway, and he's the main worry. I doubt he'll notice a thing. Now, if Mrs. Cope was still here, then we'd have a problem. She never overlooked anything."

"Who's Mrs. Cope?"

"She was Edward's last caretaker."

"His what?"

"See, when Mom worked, Mrs. Cope would look after Edward for us. She was really great – a retired RN – and she knew her stuff. But she moved to Houston a few months ago so she could spend more time with her grandkids. It was really hard to lose her; Edward adored her." She sighed. "Dad's looking for a replacement, but for now Em and I are taking turns filling in for her. Everything's worked out, I guess – you never would have been able to come here if Mrs. Cope still ran the show. She was a sweetheart, but she idolized Dad and wouldn't have kept a secret from him."

"I wondered how you were keeping up with this and your job."

"Kate's been really understanding. If it was anyone else, I probably would have been fired a long time ago."

Alice had made many sacrifices for Edward, and although I was sorry that she had to run from place to place, I was grateful for her watchful presence; she'd made good on her promise never to leave me alone, and when she couldn't be there, she found a suitable replacement. Once I'd gone to see Edward with Emmett when Alice had been caught at work, though it hadn't been a good experience. The contrast between the siblings' behavior really made me appreciate how well Alice had learned to deal with her brother. Emmett clearly didn't know how to handle Edward.

Of course, it hadn't been one of Edward's better days. He'd been unresponsive and paranoid throughout the entire visit, and Emmett's discomfiture was painful to watch. Although he was extremely gentle and soft-spoken with Edward, it was obvious even to me that he could hardly wait to get away. I wondered if Edward knew it too.

"Bella?"

I snapped out of my reverie to find Edward watching me expectantly. "Sorry, I zoned out for a minute. What was that?"

"Alice and I are going to make lunch," he repeated patiently. "Do you want to help?"

"I'd love to."

Alice was already halfway out the door. Edward turned off the stereo and followed her at a more sedate pace, and I kept close to him, amused by her impatience.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was cheerful; Alice dished up a quick macaroni salad while Edward and I assembled a few sandwiches. They laughed and teased, and I reveled in Edward's smiles. In the weeks I'd known him, his moods had been very stable for someone with his diagnosis. So stable, in fact, that I was beginning to wonder whether the Cullens had exaggerated the severity of his condition.

Oh, I didn't doubt that Edward was sick. Every other week, like clockwork, he would have a contained episode of paranoia or restlessness, much like the second time I'd met him. On the whole, however, he was a very normal person: coherent and polite, if a bit prone to depression.

I didn't believe that Alice or Emmett had lied to me in order to lure me into visiting Edward either -- the proof of his condition was printed in his medical records -- but I did wonder if maybe they too had been deceived somehow. Could someone have doctored his records, or portrayed his disorder as more severe than it really was? It was all wild conjecture, but it made more sense than Edward's complete lack of major presenting symptoms.

"Bella, will you pour some drinks, please?" Alice gestured toward the refrigerator with her knife. I could hear Edward rummaging in the pantry around the corner.

"Sure. What do you want?"

"Grab anything," she said absently, her attention on the loaf in front of her. "Is there juice?"

I shifted the milk carton back and read the label. "Cranberry-apple."

"That's fine. Give Edward some too."

I readied the glasses and laid out the silverware. Alice cleaned up and brought the plate of sliced ciabatta over to the table just as Edward came back inside, carrying a jar of mayonaisse. "There's only one left, Alice. You'll have to tell Mom to get more if Em's staying for the weekend." He looked over at me and pulled a face. "He eats the stuff like yogurt."

I shuddered.

"It's nasty," Alice said, wrinkling her nose. "If you ever want to blackmail Emmett, threaten to tell Rose about his Miracle Whip habit."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Try not to think about it too much, or you won't be able to eat," she laughed. "Now dig in, guys!"

Remembering the cranberry juice, I picked a glass up and offered it to Edward. To my astonishment, he immediately backed away from me, his eyes fixed with wide-eyed horror on the cup in my hand.

"Um . . . " I froze up in response, not sure what was happening.

Alice snatched the glass from me and quickly poured the red liquid down the drain before doing the same to the other two. "Sorry, my fault," she said, wiping down the cups. "I meant to have you get us some milk, Bella. Here, I'll do it now. Edward, why don't you dish some stuff up for Bella?"

Edward's cheeks were flushed as he returned to the table, and I watched Alice work at the sink, giving him a moment to get past his embarrassment. I hadn't the faintest idea what that scene had been about, but I let it slide -- I could ask Alice about it later.

"Do you want mayo or butter, Bella?"

"Butter's fine."

He closed the halves of bread and slid the completed sandwich toward me. A memory, half forgotten, intruded into my mind. Another plate, a dark kitchen . . .

"It was you!" I blurted, startling both of the Cullens. "You were in the kitchen -- the sandwich was still on the table. You ran!

"What are you talking about?" Alice demanded, exactly at the instant her brother began to chuckle, the color in his face receding.

"You remember?" He leaned against the counter, propping his elbows on the marble tabletop. "I'm sorry. I always seem to frighten you when we meet."

"I probably gave you a scare too," I said, relieved to have one mystery solved. "After all, I intruded on your meal. You were gone so quickly that I wasn't sure I'd seen anything at all. My imagination was going crazy."

Edward flashed his crooked smile at me. "Did you think I was a ghost?"

"Bingo." I was a little embarrassed to admit it, but Edward only laughed again.

"What are you two talking about?" Alice repeated. "Who's a ghost?"

"It was a while ago, before Bella and I were introduced. She showed up in the kitchen one night while I was having supper. We . . . startled each other."

"Scared each other shitless, you mean," Alice said tactfully, grinning now. "I can picture that. I wish I'd seen it. Why didn't you tell me, Bella?"

"I really did think it was a ghost," I confessed, "and I didn't want to bother you with something I wasn't even sure I'd actually seen."

The phone rang, and Alice hoisted herself up from the table, ducking into the doorway to answer it. I sat with Edward and took a bite of the sandwich.

"Good?" he asked anxiously.

"Delicious. Thanks."

"No problem." He started on his own lunch, while I tried to decide how to approach him.

Perhaps directness was best. "Edward, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can." The words were welcoming, but I noticed his shoulders tense up.

"You don't have to answer if this is too intrusive, but I was wondering why you were in the kitchen so late at night. I mean, you just said you were eating 'supper'. Do you usually eat alone?"

His body instantly relaxed. "No, I rarely do, but we had company that day. You were visiting, so I just waited a bit longer than usual. That's all."

I was appalled that he had gone hungry simply because I'd been in the house. How could Esme and Dr. Cullen let him do this? Were they the ones who had told him to do it? "Edward, that's terrible! I'm so sorry I was such an inconvenience."

He looked surprised by my outburst. "Hey, don't worry, Bella. I've done it before."

"Why couldn't you eat with us?" I was angry now. "You shouldn't have had to wait."

The wariness was back in his face. "I wouldn't have said anything if I'd known this would upset you so much. Bella, I'm none the worse for it. Mom would have brought something up for me, but I didn't want to put her to any trouble while she had guests. It's not a big deal."

It _was_ a big deal, dammit! How many times had he been pushed back in favor of someone else's convenience? "And then I showed up and chased you off again," I groaned. "You didn't even get to eat your sandwich!"

He laughed. "I picked it up later, when you were back in your room. Like I said, it wasn't a problem."

Alice stepped back over to the table, her face thunderous. "That was Kate. Laurent quit."

"Good," Edward said softly.

She pursed her lips and turned back to the counter, grumbling under her breath about fickle men and interfering brothers.

"Edward," I touched his sleeve, "do you eat with your family most of the time?"

He sighed. "Please quit worrying."

"You stay upstairs when company comes, don't you?" I knew I was pushing him; I saw him waver, uncertain, before he replied. "I keep out of the way. It's easier for everyone."

_Easier for them. _I don't know why it hit me so strongly, but I was convinced that Dr. Cullen was responsible for those rules. He had to be. I couldn't forget how he had rushed up the stairs at the Christmas party, his face hard and full of cold disapproval. What was wrong with that man, that he would treat his son in such a way?

And Thanksgiving -- I hadn't forgotten about Thanksgiving either. Had Emmett been fighting with his father about Edward's absence at the table? It made me sick to think that my presence had forced Edward to spend the holiday -- a holiday centered around family and friends -- upstairs and alone. It was wasn't right, and the more I thought about it, the more unjust it seemed. Little wonder that Edward seemed so inured to being left by himself. What about Alice and Emmett? What sort of home life had they had? Yet Alice never spoke poorly of her parents, and I had never heard Emmett express anything more severe than anger toward them.

It was abundantly obvious that I didn't know anything at all about the situation. Something had gone very wrong in this family . . . But what?

"I don't need a champion," Edward said abruptly, recapturing my straying attention. He swiveled in his chair to face Alice and continued, "Who will replace Laurent?"

I understood that the subject was closed and obediently ate my lunch, listening quietly to Alice ranting about irresponsible employees; she worried that Kate wouldn't be able to find anyone on such short notice.

Edward wouldn't look at me, his eyes trained on his sister, and I was sure that I had offended him. He had been amazingly open with me these past few weeks. That episode at the piano had broken the ice between us, though I rather doubted that he honestly trusted me, and I didn't want to jeopardize our line of communication.

It was difficult to understand and even harder to classify -- the distinction between friend and patient was hazy at best. Was I counseling Edward, or was I just providing companionship without any strings attached? It hadn't taken me long to discover that I had trouble separating my work from my personal life, at least where Edward was concerned. God, I really didn't know what I was going to do with him.

Still, I needed to make things right between us; I couldn't stand to have him upset with me. As we washed up the dishes, I tentatively tapped him arm to get his attention. "I'm sorry, Edward," I whispered, mindful of Alice's presence nearby.

His face instantly softened. "I've been acting like a little kid, haven't I? There's nothing for you to apologize for, Bella."

"Let me know when I'm overstepping your boundaries next time, okay?" I added, passing over a plate to be dried.

"Okay." Taking the dish, he smiled at me, and suddenly everything was right in my world again.

* * *

When I got home, I realized too late that today had been Renee's forty-eighth birthday. I couldn't believe that I'd forgotten -- I'd never forgotten her birthday before. I checked my messages fearfully, hoping that I could sneak in a quick call.

It took a few rings before Renee picked up. "Hey, baby girl! I was wondering when you were going to say hi."

"Happy birthday, Mom. I'm really sorry I didn't call earlier. Did you have a good day?" I resolved to mail a card and present as soon as I could. Birthdays had always been a big deal in our household. I was feeling like a terrible daughter.

"We had a great time. Phil took me out to dinner at this big, fancy place right by the water, and then we went scuba diving," she gushed. "Can you imagine me scuba diving? We had a great time. You should try it with us; I think you'd really like it."

"That would be fun. Get any nice presents?" I asked, knowing how much my mother loved opening gifts. She was usually more excited than I was on Christmas morning.

"Lots of things!" I could hear the excitement in her voice. "Phil bought me one of those little iPods. Wasn't that sweet? It's pink."

"Have you uploaded any music yet?"

"Phil's going to show me how tomorrow." She sighed. "But enough about me. How have you been doing, baby girl?"

"I've been fine," I assured her. "I've been pretty busy, and tomorrow I'll be heading out to visit the Cullens . . . "

"The Cullens, the Cullens, the Cullens," Renee laughed. "That's all you ever talk about now. Should I be jealous?"

"Mom, you know I love you more than anyone else."

I heard Renee snort. "I was teasing, Bella. I'm glad you've found such good friends, but baby, it's like you're in a cult or something!" She laughed again. "The Cullen cult. Or would that be the Cult of Cullens?"

"Mom . . ."

"I know, Bella. Just be healthy about it. Hang out with your other friends sometimes. You do have other friends, right?"

"I'm _fine_." I was irritated now. "I'd probably better go. I have a lot to do today."

"Alright, baby girl. Talk to you later."

"Bye." I hung up the phone, flushed and annoyed.

Slumping down onto the couch, I pulled Seth onto my lap and scratched his ears -- his favorite spot. It had been a while since I'd been free to stay at home in the afternoon. My class load was brutal this semester, and with my weekly trips to see Edward, I had very little spare time, and most of that was used for studying and classwork.

Still, I liked being busy, so it wasn't all that bad.

Seth nuzzled into my hair, whining softly. "I've been neglecting you too," I crooned, rubbing his belly. "Poor boy. How about a walk, huh?"

He knew what that word meant. Scrambling to his feet, he darted toward the door, where his leash hung on a coat peg.

A walk would be nice. We hadn't had a walk together in almost a week already. I clipped the leash to his collar, feeling guilty for keeping him cooped up. I would let us walk an extra half-hour to make up for it.

Seth yipped and scrabbled at the door with his paws, his tail swinging back and forth like a furry metronome. "Just let me get my jacket," I told him, "and then we'll go."

I had just slipped into one sleeve of my coat when someone pounded furiously on the door. Seth leapt out of the way, too startled to bark, and I took a quick step back, remembering too late that I hadn't bothered to bolt the lock. "Hello? Who's there?"

Alice barged into the living room, her cheeks flushed and black mascara pooling under her swollen eyes.

"I'm never seeing that man again!" she burst out, before I could ask her what had happened. "Never, never, not even if you paid me!" She threw her purse across the room, where it smacked against the wall and scattered cosmetics everywhere.

I immediately shut the door before Seth could make his escape and led Alice to the couch, picking up lipstick tubes and compacts as I went. "What happened, Alice? What man?"

"Doctor Whitlock," she snapped. "I'm not going back to him – he's a nutcase."

"What makes you say that? You've only had, what, three sessions with him?" I sat down next to her.

"Four," she huffed.

"Four, then."

"Fat lot of good they did me. Do you know what he had the gall to tell me?" Without waiting for an answer, she cried, "He said I was an alcoholic! _Me_, an alcoholic! A boozer, a drunk, a wino! The nerve of the man . . . ."

I patted her back, a sick feeling rising in my throat.

"But that's not all. No, that's the least of it." Alice hiccupped and grabbed for a tissue, covering her nose. "He . . . he said I was m-manipulative and controlling and s-self-deceptive!"

"He told you so?" I was shocked. What in the world had made Dr. Whitlock go off on Alice like that?

She glanced over at me from the top of the wad of Kleenex. "I . . . Um, he didn't exactly _say_ it. I . . . I might have looked at the notebook he keeps on his desk."

"Alice!"

"I wasn't trying to sneak around," she cried defensively. "He kept writing all these things on it while we were talking, and I just wanted to know what he really thought of me, and, well, he went out to get me some water, and I only took a peek. Just a little one. And it's a good thing I did, because now I know what an awful person he thinks I am. I'm _never_ going back!"

I looked at her helplessly as she started to cry again.

"Stupid, crazy, insensitive dick!" she spat. "How dare he say those things about me. What did I ever do to him?"

"Alice, the entire purpose of going in to a clinic is to let other people see the sides of ourselves that we're too prejudiced to see."

"So what, you're saying he's right? You think I'm manipulative and controlling too? Is that it?"

"That's not what I meant," I protested. Did Alice always have to go on the defensive?

"Yeah, sure," she snorted. "I bet you totally agree with that dipshit."

"That's not fair and you know it."

She glared at me for one long moment before her face fell. "You're right. I'm not being fair at all . . . But dammit, that man's wrong about me. He's _wrong_." Her voice broke. "He said I was an alcoholic, Bella."

"I know you're angry right now, but please consider this a little more. Don't cancel right away. Think it over for a few days before you make any big decisions."

Alice laughed bitterly. "You sound just like him."

"I'm not trying to," I murmured, getting up from the sofa. "Consider it advice from a friend. Just advice."

"Sure." She tugged on her skirt, twisting the expensive fabric between her fingers. "I'm scared."

I hugged her tight, feeling her shoulders tremble with suppressed sobs. "I'm sorry, Alice. I'm so sorry."

* * *

_A/N: Drama, drama, drama . . ._

_Big news: I've finally gotten my livejournal cleaned up (bekah_r) and I'll be posting extra tidbits and information about 'Voices', as well as some of my other fanfiction. The link is on my profile page. Please come check it out and feel free to friend me!_

_Thanks so much for reading._


	20. EDWARD'S WORLD

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EDWARD'S WORLD

"Bella, is that you?"

Picking up my latte, I turned to find Sam Uley standing behind me at the Starbucks counter. He smiled at me, the gesture a little uncertain, but I felt a rush of surprised pleasure; we hadn't gotten together since Rose's party, and it was good to see him again. "Sam! Wow, it's been awhile. How are you?"

Sam thrust his hands into the pockets of his faded blue jeans. "Not too shabby," he said quietly. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Of course."

I waited until he'd collected his order from the barista before leading him over to an empty table in the corner. People were clustered in groups of two or three, chattering happily over iced coffees and biscotti -- the atmosphere was loud and cheery, and Sam's somber face seemed completely out of place. "Are you alright?" I asked, unable to help myself.

He gave me an odd look. "Yeah." After a long swig of coffee, he leaned forward on the little table, looking very serious. "Hey, I'm just gonna come out and say it. I called a couple times, to see if you wanted to go out or something."

Shit. The voicemails! I couldn't believe I'd forgotten those voicemails. "Sam . . . "

"It's okay, Bella."

"No, it isn't! I'm so sorry -- I forgot to reply. I mean, I got all your voicemails, and I meant to call you back, but I've been so busy . . ." I cut myself off. "It wasn't that I didn't want to see you, Sam, and I'm so sorry if you thought so."

"You weren't avoiding me on purpose?"

"Of course not! We're friends . . . um, we _are_ friends, aren't we?"

Sam laughed, his reserve falling away easily. "You bet we are, Austen girl." After a long stretch he settled back in his seat. "So, what've you been up to?" he asked brightly. "You're still taking classes, right?"

His sudden change in demeanor made me smile. "For now."

"I hated college," he said conversationally. "Too structured, you know? I like to do work on my own, at my own pace."

"There's nothing wrong with that." I bit into the wedge of zucchini bread that had come with my order. "You're still at Rosie's? I know you were thinking of moving."

"Well, there's a chop-shop about three blocks away from Dad's place, and they're always looking for mechanics, but I want to stay in Seattle for now. The guys there come and go pretty quickly -- lots of them move toward the city for better pay -- so I think I have a decent chance of getting in if I decide to move after all."

"I'm sure Rose will write you a glowing recommendation."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "I don't know whether 'glowing' would be the word I'd use, but she'll be honest." He paused. "So, you're definitely staying here for a while?"

"In Seattle? Yes."

His smile was blinding, a flash of pearly teeth against that lovely dark skin. "I always thought you might head back to Forks or something. Actually, when I didn't hear from you, I wondered if you'd already left. I nearly asked Emmett about it."

"Really? No, I'm not planning on going back to Forks anytime soon -- not permanently, anyway." I groaned at the very idea. No way was I living in Forks if I could help it; I'd put that place behind me a long time ago.

"In that case . . ." Sam trailed off, tapping his fingers against the tabletop before blurting out, "In that case, how about dinner? Just the two of us."

I almost choked on my latte. "Dinner, as in a date?"

"Excellent deduction," he teased. "Seriously, what do you say?"

The silence after his question probably wasn't too flattering to Sam's ego, but I honestly didn't know what to tell him. My immediate impulse was to refuse -- I hadn't gone out with a guy since that blind date with Mike -- but my mother's words suddenly popped up in my mind. _Just be healthy about it, Bella. Go out with your other friends sometimes. _

"I'd love to go," I said abruptly, and perhaps a little too loudly, since several people nearby turned to stare at us.

"Great! I'll be busy next week, but how about the week after? Is Friday night good for you?"

There was an innuendo in there somewhere, but Sam's grinning face was so full of innocence that I couldn't help but laugh. "Friday, Friday . . ." Mentally skimming through the month's schedule, I couldn't find anything in the way except my usual trip to the Cullens'. Surely Edward wouldn't mind if I missed just one visit. "Sounds perfect," I assured him, feeling a stirring of anticipation at the thought of an actual date, with a guy I actually liked. How long had it been since someone asked me out without the interference of a friend? Too long to admit.

"I'll pick you up around six or so," Sam said. "You don't mind a picnic, do you? I know just the place to go, and I make a mean turkey sandwich."

I smiled at him. "A picnic in this weather?"

"Trust me, it'll be lots of fun," he said. "You'll see."

"Then I look forward to it."

Hoisting his own paper cup, he tapped it playfully against mine. A few foamy droplets of caramel-colored liquid dripped onto the tabletop. "To new adventures," he announced.

"New adventures?" If only he knew how appropriate that was. "Hear, hear."

* * *

I sat next to Alice at the beautifully polished table, watching as Esme set out the supper dishes. The food looked delectable, but I couldn't focus on it, my eyes darting expectantly toward the doorway.

Dr. Cullen was seated across from us, reading over a section of the morning's newspaper. He would pause to address a comment every once in a while, some little bit of news or funny anecdote. I would smile and nod when he spoke, trying my hardest not to betray my resentment in front of him.

I'd become somewhat of a fixture in this family in the past weeks -- Alice frequently came up with some excuse to have me over. Her ingenuity surprised me, and I wondered how often she'd pulled the wool over her parents' eyes in the past. The Cullens hadn't questioned my presence yet. In fact, Esme seemed to encourage my visits.

It was an odd paradox, that a family with so much to hide would be so willing to invite others into their lives. I didn't think I would ever understand the reasoning behind their hospitality, but whatever the cause, I was grateful for the results.

Esme began dishing up her husband's plate, and I glanced over at the wall. Six o'clock -- and no Edward.

Alice caught my eye and shook her head. When Esme began to serve me, I let my hands drop under the tablecloth to hide clenched fists, seething silently. Of course the Cullens had guests tonight, so Edward would not be making an appearance.

I'd viewed tonight as a sort of experiment. Would the Cullens let Edward take his place at the table if the visitor was someone well known to the family? Apparently Alice's intimacy with me was not enough to break past their rigid rules. Edward was left upstairs to eat alone tonight.

Quiet rage simmered beneath my skin but I did my best to look calm and cool, not wanting to give the slightest impression that I knew something was wrong. I could hardly wait for dinner to be over so we could rejoin Edward upstairs, but Dr. Cullen seemed determined to enjoy his food leisurely.

"Bella, dear, are you feeling sick? You look a little red," Esme's sweet voice, laced with motherly concern, penetrated my angry thoughts.

I fumbled for my glass, trying to hide my surprise. "Ah, no. I'm fine, thanks."

Of course Dr. Cullen noticed my hesitation. "You do look rather tired, Bella. Perhaps you've been working yourself too hard. Alice can help us finish up in the kitchen if you want to go on up to bed. Some extra sleep would probably make you feel better."

_Stop being so damn nice to me! _It was hard enough to reconcile the loving Cullens to the cold, calculating parents who stashed Edward upstairs without this added kindness.

Since Dr. Cullen seemed to be waiting for some sort of reply, I put down my fork and stood. "I think I will. Thanks for a great meal, Esme. It was delicious." I glanced over at Alice. "I'll be upstairs."

She nodded subtly before turning her attention back to her plate.

I left the kitchen, trying to act casual but probably failing -- I wasn't much of an actress, really, but Alice would cover for me if something happened. The faint strains of Dr. Cullen's mellow voice followed me up the staircase as I headed for the third floor.

Edward was sprawled out on the sofa, placidly reading one of his father's books. I came to sit with him, relieved that his mindset today allowed for closer contact. Some days I could hardly get within a few feet of him without setting off a panic attack.

His smile as I sank down onto the cushions next to him was a calm one, an edge of curiosity curling around his lips. "How did it go?"

"Just fine," I groaned, letting my head fall back onto the black leather. "Are you still hungry? I snitched a lemon bar from the table if you want it now." I unfolded the napkin to reveal the little yellow square that Esme had given me.

Edward's eyes lit up with childish delight, and he ate the entire thing in one bite. When it came to food (and the consumption of it), Edward and Emmett were remarkably alike. I knew that he had eaten dinner already, but his reaction to sweets never failed to amuse me. Besides, it was a harmless indulgence for someone who apparently had few indulgences these days. Frankly, I just liked seeing him happy.

"What're you reading?" I asked him, trying to catch a peek at the book's cover.

"Cormac McCarthy. _No Country for Old Men_." He handed the book to me after carefully marking his place with the leftover napkin. "I've read it before."

"I haven't," I admitted. "I saw the movie. It was pretty well done, but I wasn't too crazy about all the blood."

There was a pause. "You don't like blood?"

"Should I?"

"No." He smiled then, but the smile had a strange tilt to it. His eyes were intense. "No, you shouldn't. I don't."

It was a confusing remark, but I let it pass by without comment. Sometimes odd things just slipped from his mouth in the middle of conversations, and I'd become more accustomed to it now. Drawing attention to it would only embarrass him.

Alice joined us later, and we three whiled away the evening hours in front of Edward's little TV, watching some movies and winding down from a very long week. It occurred to me, as Alice chattered on about Laurent's new replacement, that I hadn't told her about my planned date with Sam. I could tell her later. Or maybe I shouldn't tell her until _after _the date. Then she couldn't cram me into some horribly expensive dress and godawful heels in anticipation of a hot date.

Throughout the last movie, I noticed that Edward was hovering closer to me than he usually did. The heat from his body radiated out against my back, and I caught a whiff of grapefruit shampoo every time he shifted. It was a strange sensation, and I sat stiffly, wondering why he was uneasy. I'd observed that he kept his distance unless something startled him -- then he would head straight for Alice (or, more rarely, me) until the moment of danger passed. It was a child-like impulse, and one that seemed to signal a turn in his mood.

Consequently, I was reluctant to leave him, but we all knew that Esme or Dr. Cullen would be up shortly to ensure that Edward was safely in bed. Alice and I sneaked downstairs before her parents began to get ready to tuck in.

By the time I crawled under my own covers, the house was silent. I hugged my pillow, debating the relative merits of staying in bed versus going to check on Edward. I hadn't liked the way he'd looked when we said goodnight, and I doubted that I could sleep until I knew that he was resting peacefully himself.

Just as I'd resolved to take a brief look upstairs, footsteps shuffled up to the bedroom door, followed by a gentle knock. I rolled out of bed and pulled on my robe.

Edward was outside, his eyes so wide that I could see the whites of them even in the darkness of the hall. "Sorry," he mumbled, relaxing minutely when I appeared. "I wanted to see if you needed anything."

It was a flimsy excuse and we both knew it. "Are you alright?"

He nodded once. "Are . . . are you alright? I mean, you haven't seen anything, have you?"

"I haven't," I said cautiously. "Have you?"

Abruptly his body language changed; he straightened his shoulders, arched his back. "I'm going downstairs. I'll see you in the morning, Bella."

I stepped out into the hall, shutting the door lightly behind me. "Aren't you going back to bed?"

"I can't."

"Then I'll go downstairs with you."

"No."

His stern refusal surprised me, but I wasn't put off. "I can't sleep either. I'd rather spend my time with you instead of staring up at the ceiling."

"Fine," he snapped. "Just be careful."

The living room seemed ominous without its cheerful lighting, and I suppressed a shiver as we moved past it. Perhaps I was feeding off of Edward's wariness -- even though I knew we were perfectly safe, I couldn't shake the tension that settled in my shoulders when I saw how carefully my companion moved through the deserted rooms.

I watched as Edward checked first the bolt on the front door, then the back door, then the French doors that led out onto the patio, and finally all the window latches. It was a slow, methodical process, and he completed his task with a sort of resigned efficiency that made me believe that he did this often.

He had just flicked back the curtains in the kitchen when he froze, his eyes darting over toward the table. I looked, but there was nothing there -- nothing but a few chairs and a centerpiece.

What was he seeing?

"Don't move," he ordered. The words were soft but edged with a peculiar authority that had me obeying without conscious thought. "Don't move, Bella." Even as he spoke, he began sliding slowly toward me, in front of me, putting his body between my still form and the table.

It seemed like we stood there for hours, locked in some sort of bizarre standoff with the empty air. "Do you hear that?" Edward whispered at last. "Do you?"

"I don't hear anything," I said honestly.

His body seemed to sag a little, and he dropped the defensive posture. There was something wild in his face as he turned to look at me, and I braced myself without knowing why. "I read minds," he said.

I had the most horrible urge to laugh. Edward was scrutinizing me now, and when I didn't respond immediately, his shoulders tensed.

"You don't believe me, do you? I wish I didn't . . . I wish I didn't, but I do. I can hear everyone's minds in my head. Sometimes it's only one, sometimes it's so many that I feel like my brain is going to explode."

"Is that what happened just now?" I asked. _Get a hold of yourself, Bella. Mask, mask -- put the mask in place . . . Mind-reading is a very common hallucination. You know that, but don't let him know . . . _

"I can hear everyone," he went on, "everyone except you."

This time I betrayed my surprise. "Why is that?"

He moaned. "It's never happened before. I didn't know what to think, or what you were trying to do to me. But they told me now. They told me." He stopped, taking a few deep breaths. "I trust you, Bella."

"I'm very pleased to hear that."

"I hate it," he murmured. "I can't stop it, and I hate that."

"Whose mind was it? Was it Alice's? Your father's?" Surely the 'minds' of one's own family couldn't inspire such fear. Edward had looked like he was preparing for battle, not listening to his sister's thoughts of boys and fashion shows.

"No."

"Tell me who the voices belong to," I urged. "Do you recognize the voices?"

He didn't -- couldn't -- answer.

"Will you tell me when you hear the voices? Can you turn them on and off?"

Edward shrugged helplessly. "I can't . . .I'm sorry. I can't help it, they do."

_They? _"Edward, is someone controlling your voices? Is there something controlling you?" I tried to keep the anxious excitement from my own voice. Would he tell me? Could this be the crux of the problem?

His face was stiff, unresponsive, though I knew that he'd heard and understood me.

"Edward, please, I need you to tell me. Who is controlling the voices? Is it you? Is someone -- some_thing_ -- controlling them?"

He shook his head nervously, his eyes darting back and forth. "No. No, I won't."

"You won't what?" I stopped myself, realizing that I was pushing and he was becoming agitated in return. "Here, why don't we sit down for a minute? It's okay. You're safe."

At the careful touch of my hands, he allowed me to lower him onto one of the chairs. He sat rigidly, his palms pressed against his thighs, fingers clenching and unclenching in a restless pattern. A low whimper rumbled up from his chest. "I can't tell, I can't tell, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to tell me who. But there _is _someone else involved here?"

He was staring over my shoulder fearfully, as if expecting a shadow to leap out from the darkness of the hallway. Reluctantly, he nodded once.

I felt an immediate, dizzying rush of relief. Oh, thank God. Now we could go somewhere. My mind was spinning with the implications -- if someone else was involved, who? Was this person real, or a figment of Edward's imagination, another hallucination? How could I get him to reveal who it was without unraveling him completely?

"I'm right here," I told him, rubbing the palm of my hand against his arm. "I'm right here, and we're both safe."

He took a shuddering breath. "Yes, I --" Edward stopped, his eyes widening. I stilled, hearing the soft tread of footsteps overhead. Someone else was awake.

"Dad," he whispered, sounding nervous. His fingers curled around my arm, and he led me out of the kitchen, pulling me gently along with him. I moved as stealthily as I could, ears perked for the sound of Dr. Cullen moving toward the stairs.

We waited, breathless, as the steps paced back and forth across the ceiling before finally fading. After a few tense seconds, we relaxed. For tonight at least, the confrontation had been averted. We exchanged smiles, sighing almost at the same moment.

The light from the hall lamp played across Edward's features. He hadn't shaved tonight, and I was tempted to reach up and scratch my fingers against the dusty red stubble. He looked different, more wild, and I wasn't sure whether I liked it or not. Then again, Edward in all his forms was appealing to me -- in a purely platonic way, of course.

"Tomorrow," Edward said. "Can we talk tomorrow?"

"Of course we can. Let's try to get a little sleep, and we can get up extra early and talk before breakfast. Is that okay?"

He nodded, and as we came up to my room, he hesitated at the threshold. "May I come in for a moment?" he asked politely.

"Sure."

Edward went straight into the adjoining bathroom and when he came back, there was a large hairbrush in his hand. He gave it to me, with a gentle request to keep it by my pillow for the night.

"On my pillow?" I repeated, wondering if I had heard him wrong.

"Yes," he said seriously. "Please just do it, Bella. And be careful."

The brush was very heavy, made of some sort of tortoiseshell, and only when I had bid Edward goodnight and laid it down on the bed did it occur to me what the brush was.

A weapon.

* * *

A/N: _I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanza/etc! I've been enjoying the break immensely so far, and hopefully all this extra free time will get my creative juices flowing. _

_So now we know that Edward is 'reading minds'. Any guesses as to the source of these voices? _

_Please leave a comment if you have the time; I appreciate any and all feedback.  
_

_Thanks for reading!_

_NOTE: If you haven't checked out my livejournal yet, there's a new teaser for Ch. 20 up. Find it here_: .com/ _or follow the link on my profile._


	21. THE MEANING OF LIFE

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE MEANING OF LIFE

* * *

The shrill whistle of my cell ringtone woke me the next morning at just a little past four. Swearing, I groped for the phone and flipped it open, too groggy to be polite.

"What the hell do you want?"

There was a moment of silence before a muffled sob issued from the other end. I checked the caller ID: it was Rosalie.

I shot upright, tossing aside the sheets as I clamored out of bed. "Rose? I'm sorry! Are you still there? Are you alright? Rose?"

It took her a moment to answer again, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse. "I'm at a bar, and I need you to pick me up. Can you pick me up, please? I don't want Emmett to see me."

It took a few minutes to wrestle the directions out of her, and then I was on my way, pausing long enough to throw on some clothes and tell Alice that I had to go run errands.

It didn't take too long to find the pub - it was only about a mile or two away from Rose and Emmett's apartment, and I was glad that she at least had the sense to go get herself hammered in a relatively safe neighborhood. As I parked in the lot, calling Whitlock crossed my mind, but in the end I decided against it; Rose still had a right to some privacy.

There weren't many people inside, considering the ungodly hour, so I was able to find Rosalie right away. The tension in my shoulders eased as I noticed how steady and collected she seemed, sitting by herself at the bar - she wasn't slumped over a table or sobbing on the bartender, so that had to be a good sign.

Or so I thought, at least until I got a good look at her face.

"Jesus," I breathed, sliding onto a stool next to her. "Rose, I'm here. Do you want to go now?"

She was perfectly made-up, not even a streak of mascara out of place, but she looked so goddamned _sad_ that I felt sick. Rosalie didn't show sadness - anger, yes; dark amusement, on occasion; but sorrow? Never. Not in front of me, and definitely not out in public where anyone might see her.

Her eyes were disturbingly blank; I didn't even think she was drunk, though there was a half-empty glass in front of her. "Yes."

Taking a risk, I grabbed her hand, and when she didn't object, I knew that there was something serious going down. We walked in silence to the doors, skirting around an older gentleman who gave us a funny look as we passed by, and out to my truck. Rose got in without a word of protest, and I had to gently remind her to buckle her seatbelt before we headed back to her apartment.

Emmett wasn't home. Rose bypassed the couch and went straight into the bedroom, crawling under the covers and burying her face in a pillow. I followed tentatively, lingering by the door.

I didn't have to wait long.

"Open my top drawer," Rose said, words muffled by the comforter, "and take out the envelope."

I did as she said, gingerly sorting through piles of lacy underwear until I found a bright purple envelope that looked strangely familiar. It was still sealed, and when I flipped it over, I saw the scrawl of Rose's handwriting across the address.

Rosalie let out a bark of bitter laughter. "So much for Whitlock's miracle cures."

I remembered then: a Thanksgiving card that Dr. Whitlock had urged Rosalie to send to her mother, in the hopes of breaking the ice between parent and child. The stamped 'Return to Sender' over Rosalie's writing was a blur of red ink.

"She sent it back," Rose murmured, "without even opening it."

Slipping the letter back into the drawer, I closed it softly and came to sit with her on the bed. "Maybe it was a mistake at the post office. The address might have changed."

She didn't scoff at me, which was more worrisome than anything else. "No. It didn't. She sent it back."

There was really nothing else to say. "Do you want me to call Jasper?"

"Not now. I'll . . . I'll tell him, but not now."

I laid my hand across her back, a steady weight. "I'm sorry."

She trembled once and then sighed, twisting the sheets around herself. We sat together quietly for about an hour before she fell asleep, exhausted after a long night. I stuck around for a while longer until Emmett came home, looking frazzled and frantic.

"The shop's all closed up," he burst out, before I could say anything, "and I can't get a hold of Rosie -"

"She's sleeping," I interrupted. "She's okay, Emmett."

He let out a breath and sagged into a kitchen chair. "Thank God. She took off last night, and when she didn't come into work this morning and wasn't answering her phone, I just . . ."

"I'm sure she didn't mean to worry you." I hugged him, smiling when he squeezed my shoulders. "She'll be fine once she gets a little rest and talks some things over with Dr. Whitlock. I've got to get back to Edward now, but if you need any help or Rose needs to talk to me, don't hesitate to call, okay?"

The house was silent when I sneaked back in - Dr. Cullen had already left for work, but everyone else was still sleeping. Tiptoeing up the stairs, I looked forward to snatching a few more hours of sleep before Edward came downstairs for our talk. I hadn't had much of a chance to process everything that had happened last night so hopefully he would be dead to the world until at least seven o'clock.

As always, Edward surprised me: he was sitting on my bed when I came in, curled in on himself with his head buried on his knees. He was rocking back and forth slowly.

Oh, God, not another panic attack. I just couldn't catch a break today.

"Edward?" I whispered, not daring to touch him in case he flipped out on me.

He stopped swaying at once, jerking up to stare at me. It took a moment for him to react, but when he did, I was almost knocked over by the force of his hug.

I froze up. He'd touched me before, but never had ventured anything more than holding my hand or tapping my shoulder. I didn't know what to do with an armful of panicked Edward, and I might have called for Alice if he hadn't let me go almost at once.

"Bella, you're okay!" His voice cracked a little.

I cleared my throat. "Yes, I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"

He blinked. "We were going to talk this morning. Early. I came down here, and you were gone, and your truck was gone, and I thought maybe after last night . . . " He trailed off. "Well, you're here now."

"I had an errand to run - Is something wrong?"

"I should be asking you that," he interrupted, eyeing me with the air of a man taking inventory. His gaze lingered on my neck; I shifted uncomfortably. "Are you hurt at all?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"No one tried to . . . bother you?"

"Of course not. There's no one else in the house, Edward. I'm fine, really."

An all-too familiar twist of stubbornness appeared on his face.

"I swear I'm okay," I sighed. "No one even approached me. It doesn't . . . " I stuttered to a halt as he leaned over and began unfastening the buttons on my blouse.

"Edward!" I tried to jerk away but he held on tight, his hands determined and surprisingly strong. He peeled the fabric apart and peered closely at my exposed throat. I stopped struggling when I felt his warm fingers brush against my collarbone, caressing the sensitive flesh as he skimmed his hands up my neck to the base of my ears. I was breathless, focusing on the intense sensation, and my eyes drifted shut as he drew his fingertips lightly along my nape and down again . . .

The tender stroking stopped, and my eyes shot open; Edward was leaning back against the headboard, looking perplexed but satisfied.

"What -" My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat and tried again. "What are you doing?"

"Checking," he said simply, reaching out to re-button my shirt.

I was flushed and hot, and his terse reply only flustered me more. I slapped his hands away and finished the task myself, my fingers fumbling clumsily with the buttons. "Checking for what?" I demanded.

"It doesn't matter." He averted his eyes politely from my chest.

His evasiveness infuriated me. "Edward, that's not good enough. You just invaded my personal space and embarrassed me, and I damn well deserve to know why!"

Edward's eyes flashed angrily at my rebuke, but after a grudging silence, he mumbled, "Bite marks."

I gaped at him. "Bite _what_?"

"I was looking for bite marks." His chin was tilted up defiantly, but he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"While I appreciate your . . . concern, I'll have you know that my sex life is absolutely none of your business."

"That's not what I meant," he snapped. All at once the fight seemed to drain out of him, and he curled back into the pillow. "You don't understand."

"You're right, I don't understand," I admitted, fighting to keep myself calm, "but I might if you explain it to me."

"I can't." His jaw clenched tight. "In the future, I'll keep my nose out of your private affairs, I assure you."

"Oh, for the love of God . . . " I cut myself off before I said something hurtful. It wasn't Edward's fault - it wasn't even Edward talking right now. The delusions were in control. I took his hand cautiously, rubbing my thumb soothingly along his palm. "I hope someday you'll trust me enough to tell me the truth," I whispered.

He hesitated. "I do trust you. It's me I don't trust." His grip tightened on my fingers. "Will you stay with me, for a little while?"

"I always will."

I kept his hand in mine, filled with the bittersweet affection I felt for him- Edward was my friend, a patient, Alice's brother, an enigma, and in some small way, I had come to love him. This was _us_, sitting together in quiet harmony, confiding friends, a system of support when we both needed it most. This was what we were.

I should have known that it would all go to hell.

* * *

The voicemail from Dr. Whitlock was short and unusually brusque. Extra hours spent at the clinic were always welcome, but a curt demand to report to his office on a Saturday when I wasn't scheduled in for another week was unsettling. I'd heard of him using unusual techniques to shake up his students so I steeled myself for whatever he had in store and stepped into his office.

Everything looked in order. The room was immaculate, the furniture in its usual arrangement, Dr. Whitlock seated in his customary fashion behind his desk, etcetera, but it was pretty apparent that this wasn't some sort of unorthodox teaching method.

"Bella, I apologize for calling you out on a weekend, but a situation recently came up that required immediate attention." There was a detached quality to the doctor's voice that instantly put me on alert; he used it on his patients when he delivered particularly bad news. I sat down, needing to feel the solid support of the chair underneath me.

"Yes?"

He glanced down at his folded hands and then up again, his light eyes piercing and direct. "I'm taking you off Rosalie's case."

My breath hitched, and I stared blankly at the doctor, struggling to understand what he'd said.

But he wasn't done: "I have been concerned with your personal involvement with Rosalie and her family from the start, and it has escalated too far for me to ignore it. I was informed by Dr. Banner - one of my own colleagues - that you were with Ms. Hale at a local bar a few days ago. I'm sure I don't need to tell you how inappropriate that is. Do you have any explanation?"

I scrambled for the right words. "There . . . I think I know what happened. I mean, if this happened on Thursday night, I can explain. There was a situation with Rosalie -" I broke off, wondering if she had talked to the doctor at all.

"Ms. Hale told me about her mother's letter, if that's what you're referring to." His frown deepened. "Am I correct in assuming that she called you?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't think that it might be in Ms. Hale's best interest to call me instead?"

"I . . . no, I guess I -"

"And it never occurred to you that accepting a personal phone call and then going out to collect Ms. Hale by yourself was a violation of proper client protocol?"

"I didn't think of that at the time."

"So you deny that this is not the first instance in which you've fraternized with Ms. Hale beyond the appropriate scope of this office?"

"Fraternized? I . . ."

"Please answer the question, Bella."

I swallowed thickly. "No, I don't deny it. I consider Ms. Hale a friend, and I've met with her outside of the office."

Dr. Whitlock sighed. "Whether you intended to or not, you concealed your personal relationship with Ms. Hale from me; you broke the terms of your contract and violated my trust. You will not longer attend sessions starting this week."

I couldn't breathe. "Y-you . . . you're taking me off the program?"

"I'm not taking you off the program, but you will be transferred to another patient," His eyes narrowed, "provided that you respect our professional boundaries, and Ms. Hale's. What you choose do to outside these walls is entirely at your discretion, but you are not to approach Ms. Hale inside them. Have I made myself clear?"

"You have," I croaked.

His face was hard, cold. "You are never to seek out personal contact with a patient, or the patient's family while in the company of the patient. You are never to ask for personal information or volunteer personal information of your own. You are never to arrange meetings outside of this office, or accept telephone calls or text messages or any sort of communication without contacting me for permission first. You are never to put your problems before those of the patient regardless of what the patient invites you to say or do, and you are never, never to keep information from me. Is that understood?"

I tried to say yes, but all that came out was a sob.

"Now that you are aware of the rules, I expect you to obey them; you should have been familiar with them from the start, considering how qualified you were purported to be." He sighed, and his tone gentled. "You've shown me that you have potential, Bella. I have faith that you will learn from your misjudgments and that is why I've decided to keep you on, but make no mistake: if you overstep your boundaries again, I will remove you immediately from this office. Consider yourself on probation."

Numbness was stealing up in my chest. I nodded, incapable of speech.

"I'm glad we understand each other." He held out his hand. "Give me your notes, please. All of them."

Trembling, I pulled my notebook from my bag and laid it on his desk.

"Thank you. You may go now, Bella. Lauren will contact you tomorrow with your new schedule." He looked at me once, impassive, before waving me away.

I left in silent numbness, somehow managing to make it through the office door and down the street to my truck before I broke apart.

* * *

Chapter End Notes:

_Oh, my God - I am **so** very sorry that I was AWOL for such a long time. RL really hit me over the head with a shovel these last few months, and things have finally slowed down enough for me to return to Atticward's ongoing drama._

_I'll be amazed if anyone is still following this, but thank you so much for being patient with me, and a special thank-you to those of you who kindly checked on me to make sure I was still alive. :)_

_This chapter isn't the best one to make a comeback with, but the action will pick up again very soon. Thanks for reading, guys!_


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